"All right, old fellow, only don't let us lose track of one another."
"Of course we mustn't do that," and Old Spicer, a little irritated by the escape of both Chamberlain and Bissell, hurried away.
He went straight to Cora Bell's rooms, and had a long and serious talk with her. He then went to the place where he and Killett had spent so much time earlier in the day, and wrote two long letters, which he posted with his own hand. After this he went to Inspector Byrnes' office, on Mulberry Street, and was closeted with that celebrated detective for more than two hours; and then, being quite worn out, he made his way to a neighboring hotel and went to bed.
Early the next morning he started out again.
A little later he found himself in the Bowery. He had just crossed Third Street, walking in the direction of Fourth, when he saw a figure ahead of him that attracted his attention.
It was that of a rather good-looking young man of about twenty-three years of age.
The blood tingled in the old detective's veins. His heart beat faster—his pulse quicker.
He hurried forward.
The young man turned into a saloon. Old Spicer followed him.
The young man called for a drink. The detective did likewise.