“As heaven is my judge, Mr. Leslie, from this hour I will never again yield to temptation in any shape. What you said about my mother has taken the scales from my eyes and I see.” Even Darrell knew he would stand firm. Joe Leslie had saved one soul. CHAPTER VIII THE JEHU ADDS TO THE MYSTERY It gave Eric Darrell a strange feeling to hear Joe talk in the vein he did. Of all men on earth—or women either—he despised a hypocrite. Could he believe Joe sincere in what he said about deceit, when such a load of suspicion was resting over his own head? Eric was badly rattled. He believed and yet doubted. Something must soon come up to decide the question one way or another. On the way to his rooms, where Joe was to put him down, the latter fell asleep in the corner, so no words passed between them. When the hack came to a stop Joe woke up. “Hello here, where are we?” “At my den;” and Eric got out as the driver opened the door. “Then I can have another nap before I reach my home.” “Good night, Joe.” “Don’t forget to-morrow morning, Eric.” “I shan’t, you may depend upon it.” As a sudden thought flashed through his mind he turned and looked at the driver. Surely this was not the same man who had driven Joe from the _bal masque_. The detective did not remember the number of the other vehicle, but had seen the man—both wore the regulation tall stove-pipe hat, without which no cabby is ever seen in New York, if he has any respect for himself, but there was a decided difference in the height of the men. This again puzzled Eric. “What is your name, driver?” he asked, as the other was about to mount his box. “John Mulligan, sor.” “German, of course?” smiling. “Yis, sor, direct from Cork.” “Where can you be found in the morning about ten o’clock?” The man gave his stand. “Then consider yourself engaged by myself from ten to twelve, and wait for me.” “All right, sor.” The hack rattled down the street. Darrell looked after it and shook his head—he did not know really what to think. In all the strange cases he had handled in the past, he could not remember one which had presented such a confusing front as this. It faced both ways. He was not yet ready to believe either side until stronger proofs were presented. At any rate another day would surely develop new features bearing on the case, and from these he would be able to get conclusions. He retired at a quarter to three. It was his intention to rise at eight, and when he jumped out of bed the clock lacked but a few minutes of the hour. Before nine he had breakfasted in a neighboring cafe. The other inmates of the bachelor apartment house had no idea of the occupation the detective followed. He was a quiet fellow and did not seek acquaintances—besides, in New York, people get acquainted only through regular channels—two families might live next door for several years and their ways and hours are so different that the members hardly know their neighbors by sight.