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search for Boyde was a prolonged nightmare; used several times already, this phrase alone describes it. It lasted over a fortnight. Every night, from nine o'clock till two, or even later in the morning, it continued. The old doctor almost invariably came with me. It was mid-winter and bitter cold, I still had no overcoat, a thin summer vest being my only underwear. The disreputable haunts we searched were heated to at least 70° F., whereas the street air was commonly not far from zero, with biting winds or icy moisture that cut like a knife. It must have been the drug that saved me from pneumonia, for I was in and out of a dozen haunts each night I was a prey to contrary and alternating emotions—the desire to let the fellow go free, the conviction that it was my duty to save him from himself, to save others from him as well. The distress, unhappiness and doubt I experienced made that prolonged man-hunt indeed a nightmare.

Plans were laid with care and knowledge. Boyde, we argued, had money, or he would have returned to East 19th Street. Had he enough to bribe the police, or to go to Canada? We decided that his contempt for me would outweigh any fear he felt that I might take action. The "Night Owls" were now away on tour; he would hardly go after Pauline M. We concluded he was "doing the town," as it was called, and was not very far from East 19th Street. With his outstanding figure and appearance, it ought not to be difficult to find some trace of him in the disreputable places. The "Tenderloin"—a region about Broadway and 30th Street, so packed with illegal "joints" that their tribute to the police was the richest and juiciest of the whole city—was sure to be his hunting Rh