A cross-town street-car caused the gray automobile to swerve rapidly in order to avoid a collision, and Brodie, a methodical person of law-abiding instincts, lost nearly fifty yards in allowing the streetcar to pass.
"Whoever he may be, he is not going to make any unnecessary stops," commented the roundsman, fully alive to the significance of the incident, since ninety-nine drivers out of a hundred would have applied the brake and allowed the heavy public conveyance to get out of the way.
"Unless the Hungarian assassins of New York are bang up-to-date in the benzine part of their stock-in-trade, our car will make good in the next two blocks," said Devar, over his shoulder.
And, indeed, it almost appeared that Brodie had heard what was said.
He bent forward slightly, touched a few taps with skilled fingers, squared his shoulders, and set about the race with the air of a man who thought it had lasted long enough.
Nearing 42nd Street, he had reduced the gap to little more than twice the length of the car, and the three men saw the number plate clearly.
Not only did the number differ, but it was of another series.
"That's a New Jersey car," announced the policeman.
"It may be a New Jersey number," Curtis corrected him, "but I still retain my belief that we are following the right man and the right car." Just then no less than four cross-town electric cars loomed into sight, and completely blocked the avenue at its intersection with 42nd Street.
The gray automobile had to pull up very quickly, and Brodie was compelled to execute a neat half-turn to clear the rear wheels.

In the result, both cars halted side by side, but Curtis found himself just short of a position whence he could obtain a second look at the suspected man.
The policeman had bent low in his seat, lest his uniform should be seen, but he, like his companions, gave a sharp glance into the interior of the other car.

It was empty.
He was seated on the near side, however, and he noticed that the lower panel behind the door had been cleaned since the remainder of the paint-work was touched, and the step bore signs of a recent washing.
Devar lowered one of the front sashes a couple of inches.
"Don't look round, Arthur," he said in a low tone, "and don't take any notice of the chauffeur, but creep forward a foot or two, and then let him go ahead again." Brodie sat like a sphinx, and apparently did nothing, yet the car moved.

Sacrificing himself, Roundsman McCulloch fell back into his corner, and left the window clear for Curtis.
"Well ?" he inquired, and, surfeited though he might be with New York sensations, the others were conscious of just a hint of excitement in his voice.
"That is Anatole, I am nearly sure," said Curtis.
"Why not jump out and grab him now ?" suggested Devar.
"Do you gentlemen mind following him for a time ?" asked the policeman.
"No, I'm game for anything.

And you, Curtis ?" "Oh, I feel ready to start the night all over again." The street-cars went on, and the gray automobile darted through the first possible opening.
"You see, it is this way," explained the official.