“You’d better be careful, sir—there’s—” At this moment came a pinch on his arm from the detective, and he realized that the other was up to his little game. “What’s that?” demanded Prescott. By this time Eric had managed to touch one of the jehu’s hands with the barrel of his revolver. The contact sent a shudder through the other. “There’s bad step here—the lady might be hurt,” finished the driver. “Oh! I’ll look after her, my man.” He handed the jehu some bills. “There’s the amount agreed on and ten dollars more, because you’ve been faithful.” “Thanks, your honor,” stammered the man. He acted as though he was tempted to blurt out the truth and take the consequences, but Eric managed to whisper something to him that quieted this suicidal thought. “You’ve got your money—keep quiet, and I’ll put you in the way of ten more.” That was enough. The man’s sordid nature was touched—he was mercenary to an unusual degree. After that he was for earning the new fee, even at the expense of treachery to his former patron. Prescott assisted the lady companion of his flight out with much solicitude. Still Eric did not interfere. He was strongly tempted to knock the artist down, seize the lady perhaps as she swooned, and placing her back in the vehicle, drive to the desecrated home of his friend. Something restrained him. He would see more. What meant the lights in the house? Something here needed investigation, and he was the man to look into it. He saw the couple enter the yard and proceed in the direction of the front door. It opened. A woman’s form stood there. “Welcome, Mr. Prescott. We heard the wheels and were sure it was you. Welcome to your home, Mrs. —” The rest died out as they went in, and the detective heard no more. He was amazed. How daring the artist was. How openly he carried out his plans. Most men would have taken a train and sped away like the wind, fearing the terrible vengeance of an outraged husband. He did not seem to realize the danger he incurred, or else had a contempt for it. Eric was in doubt whether this man was a fool or a brave fellow. Perhaps he was cunning enough to know that in all probability the husband would seek for him at a distance, and overlook the near places. This would be wisdom. Eric now turned to the man. “See here, my fine fellow, I have your number, and if you play me false I’ll land you behind the bars inside of twelve hours if it takes every officer on the force to do it. You hear what I am saying. Serve me well and what I promised is yours. I have already paid you money to-night.” “You?” “Certainly—I was the old man who rode up from Fourteenth Street with you.” “Jerusalem!” The driver saw that he had to deal with a shrewd man—he admired such a person, and could well afford to fall in behind him. After that there would be no kick on his part against what fate had decided for him, but he would pull in the traces meekly.