This ends all I have to say about myself; but the events of that night carefully related to me by George are important enough for me to describe them, with all the detail which is their rightful due.  I shall tell the story as I have already been led to do in other portions of this narrative, as though I were present and shared the adventure.

As soon as the two were in the street, the detective turned towards George and said: 

“Mr. Anderson, I have a great deal to ask of you.  The business before us is not a simple one, and I fear that I shall have to subject you to more inconvenience than is customary in matters like this.  Mr. Brotherson has vanished; that is, in his own proper person, but I have an idea that I am on the track of one who will lead us very directly to him if we manage the affair carefully.  What I want of you, of course, is mere identification.  You saw the face of the man who washed his hands in the snow, and would know it again, you say.  Do you think you could be quite sure of yourself, if the man were differently dressed and differently occupied?”

“I think so.  There’s his height and a certain strong look in his face.  I cannot describe it.”

“You don’t need to.  Come! we’re all right.  You don’t mind making a night of it?”

“Not if it is necessary.”

“That we can’t tell yet.”  And with a characteristic shrug and smile, the detective led the way to a taxicab which stood in waiting at the corner.

A quarter of an hour of rather fast riding brought them into a tangle of streets on the East side.  As George noticed the swarming sidewalks and listened to the noises incident to an over-populated quarter, he could not forbear, despite the injunction he had received, to express his surprise at the direction of their search.

“Surely,” said he, “the gentleman I have described can have no friends here.”  Then, bethinking himself, he added:  “But if he has reasons to fear the law, naturally he would seek to lose himself in a place as different as possible from his usual haunts.”

“Yes, that would be some men’s way,” was the curt, almost indifferent, answer he received.  Sweetwater was looking this way and that from the window beside him, and now, leaning out gave some directions to the driver which altered their course.

When they stopped, which was in a few minutes, he said to George: 

“We shall have to walk now for a block or two.  I’m anxious to attract no attention, nor is it desirable for you to do so.  If you can manage to act as if you were accustomed to the place and just leave all the talking to me, we ought to get along first-rate.  Don’t be astonished at anything you see, and trust me for the rest; that’s all.”

They alighted, and he dismissed the taxicab.  Some clock in the neighbourhood struck the hour of ten.  “Good! we shall be in time,” muttered the detective, and led the way down the street and round a corner or so, till they came to a block darker than the rest, and much less noisy.