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 He turned down Broadway, in this manner, expecting to see his man enter an office building, and ready to close up on him, so that he might not lose him at an elevator. At Liberty Street, he followed across Broadway, and saw his quarry making towards the water-front. And then he realized that it was after five o’clock and the man was a suburbanite going home. He felt in his pocket to assure himself that he had his twenty-five dollars of expense money—given him to use, if he should need it, in following the Brooklyn suspect. He found it and kept his hand on it. With that, nothing could stop him. The man had no bag; he could not be going far. Once traced to his home, Babbing could be reached by telephone, and the Bureau could do the rest.

And even this thought of Babbing did not halt him. It rather drove him on. Instead of stopping to reconsider what he was doing—in the aspect that it would wear if it ended badly—he was so obsessed by the assurance of