“Oh, that’s it. I suppose he has lots of people visit his studio?” “Quite a number.” “Ladies and gentlemen?” “Ladies particularly—he’s very fond of the gentle sex, and they quite make a hero of him.” Darrell smiled. He had seen stage favorites whom the silly women of New York were wont to rave over, and knew just how foolishly they could act. Thank heaven all women are not alike, and yet their weak points are more or less developed in the whole sex, as with men. He sighed as he thought of it, and then he turned again, loyal to the resolve he had made not to condemn Lillian without the most absolute proof. As he left the building he remembered the hack driver. Could he reach his stand before twelve? He started off—a street car assisted him up Sixth Avenue, and he arrived just five minutes before the noon hour. John was there. He had the same horses as on the previous night, and showed no marks of his late hours. At sight of the detective he made no sign of recognition, which was quite natural, for the latter’s disguise was complete. “Hello, John, I want your vehicle,” Eric said. “I’m engaged just now, sor.” “Yes, warming your heels. John, I’m the gentleman who engaged you last night.” The man made a peculiar face. “Tell that till the marines, sor. Ain’t I got eyes—phat good are they if I don’t see?” “Well, they’re no good if they can’t see that—five dollars, pay for the two hours you’ve waited.” The man looked at the bill and took it. “Faith an’ now I know ye’re the gentlemon,” he said with a leer. It is strange yet true that such a man can always see better with a bank bill over his eyes. “Did my friend Leslie get home all right?” “Yes, sor.” “Anybody waiting up for him?” carelessly. “His wife I reckon, sor—leastways she let him in directly the kerriage stopped.” This was a point for the detective. He made a note of it. “Have you driven for Mr. Leslie before?” “Several times, sor.” “Fine fellow.” “That’s where yees are correct—he’s a man I could do lots for.” This was not flattery—the true ring could be detected in such praise—it came from the heart. “How did it come he had another driver earlier in the night?” “Him—Mr. Joseph Leslie—sure I took him from his house and brought him back and divil another driver did he have at all. Phat are yees drivin’ at? I dunno!” “I made a mistake, John—I see it now.” To himself, however, this hunter of men was saying: “Probably Joe has bought this fellow up, body and soul—that would account for his desire to serve him.” Nothing could be more easily done, for the man looked like one who would be faithful. If this were the case it would be love’s labor lost to attempt to get any intelligence out of such a man. Still, Eric Darrell prided himself on his manner of cross questioning, and he began to work the jehu in a manner that was novel to say the least.