The man hurried across the street and followed Hawksley by matching his steps.
His business was merely to learn the other's destination and then to report.
Across the earth a tempest had been loosed; but Ariel did not ride it, Caliban did.

The scythe of terror was harvesting a type; and the innocent were bending with the guilty.
Suddenly Hawksley felt young, revivified, free.

He had arrived.
Surmounting indescribable hazards and hardships he walked the pavement of New York.

In an hour the mutable quicksands of a great city would swallow him forever.

Free! He wanted to stroll about, peer into shop windows, watch the amazing electric signs, dally; but he still had much to accomplish.
He searched for a telephone sign.