“That’s what I said,” as he handed back the tin-type. “Got a story?” he inquired the same instant. “Anything big doing?” “Which way did he go?” “Up-town,” said the policeman, jerking his thumb in the direction north. “Up 8th Avenoo. And he was travellin’ with a partner, a big feller, same size as yerself, I guess.” He moved off to show he had no more to say. Any story that might result would be out of his beat. There was nothing in it for him. His interest vanished. I hurried on to the corner of 8th Avenue, the edge of a bad neighbourhood leading down through the negro quarter towards the haunts of the river-front, and there I paused again for a second or two. I was still in 23rd Street, but I now turned up the Avenue. It was practically deserted, the street cars empty, few people on the pavements. The side-streets crossed it at right angles, poorly lit, running right and left into a world of shadows, but at almost every corner stood a brilliant saloon whose windows and glass doors poured out great shafts of light. Sometimes there were four saloons, one at each corner, and the blaze was dazzling. I passed 24th, 25th, 26th and 27th streets. There were little flurries of dry snow; I saw no one, nothing but empty silent sidewalks swept by the icy wind. At 28th Street there were four saloons, one at each corner, and the blaze of light had a warm, enticing look. Through the blurred windows of the one nearest to me, the heads of the packed crowd inside as they lined up to the bar were just visible, and while I stood a moment, shivering in the icy wind, the comforting idea of a hot whisky came to me. For the wind cut like glass and neither my excitement nor the exercise had warmed me. I hesitated, standing against a huge electric light pole, in whose black shadow I was quite invisible. A hot whisky, I reflected, in this neighbourhood would cost 20 or 25 cents; I had 30 cents in my pocket; I needed the stimulant; I was very weak; I felt cold to the bone. But 25 cents was a lot of money, I might want a car-fare home besides ... and I was still hesitating when two tall figures emerged suddenly out of the dark side-street into the flood of light, swung sharp round the corner, and passed through the glass doors into the saloon. The figures were two men, and the first of them was Boyde. For a second my heart seemed to stop, then began immediately racing and beating violently. In that brilliant light I saw every detail sharply, Boyde and his companion, both mercilessly visible. The man I wanted wore a big horsy overcoat of light-coloured box-cloth with large white buttons, the velvet collar turned up about his ears. The other man I did not know; he was taller than Boyde and wore no overcoat; he was the “partner travellin’ with him” mentioned by the policeman. His gait was unsteady, he reeled a little.