In the present instance he believed that he would be shadowed, and he even figured out to himself the successive links in the chain that brought the conclusion. Gillman had suspected him and had conveyed his suspicions to the man in the brown derby at the same time that he had reported the result of the assay. It was this man in the brown derby whom Nick had cast for the part of a shadow, and hence Chick’s instructions to “shadow the shadow.” The one uncertain element of the situation was Ramsay, or Yasmar, but Nick was depending on Patsy to take care of the Westerner. Could Nick have been made familiar with the contents of a certain note, at that moment lying on his desk at home, there would have been a decided change in the plan of operations. Gillman appeared to be very well satisfied with himself, for he carried a cane and swung it jauntily as he walked. He paid no attention to the ground behind him, and that might mean one of two things--either he did not think he was followed, or did not care. At Sixth Avenue he hailed a downtown car. It was an open car, and Nick got aboard three seats behind him. The man in the brown derby followed the car in a hansom, a difficult but not impossible task considering the slow speed at which the car had to travel in that part of the city and at that busy hour. The hardest part of the work fell to Chick. He could not very well get aboard the car with Gillman and Nick, and, as there was no cab in sight which he could hire, he slipped a five-dollar bill to an expressman and told him to keep the hansom in sight. Thus Gillman, virtually shadowed by three, made his way to his destination, which proved to be a restaurant in the lower part of the town--a place famous for the low price of its “table d’hote dinner with wine.” There he and Nick had dinner, the man in the brown derby remaining on the walk outside and Chick watching from across the street. The meal over, the tactics were continued, Gillman leading the chase to Brooklyn, crossing by ferry and winding up at Boucicault’s on Hamilton Street. It was between eight and nine in the evening, and Hamilton Street was just “waking up.” A sleepy and quiet thoroughfare by day, it is anything but sleepy and quiet under the gas and electric lights. “Speak-easies” and other haunts of vice abound, and not the least among the lawless resorts was Boucicault’s. There were three stories to the building, and Boucicault’s occupied all three, in addition to a good-sized basement. Of the basement more will be said hereafter. The main floor was given up to a saloon and restaurant. The floors above constituted the hotel part of the establishment, and here many a drunken victim had been plucked by the human harpies who made the place their rendezvous. If darker crimes than robbery were meditated, the intended victim was conducted to the gloomy and vault-like regions under the saloon.