No, I had not exactly recognized that peculiar stoop to the shoulders of the owner of the launch back there at Port Washington, as I had assured myself I would be able to do. But, if I ever hoped to retrieve myself, I hadn’t a moment to lose. I, in turn, hot-footed it to the shore end of the pier, and fortune seemed to favor me here a bit; for there stood another taxi, and its “vacant” flag was flying. “Follow that cab, my man,” I said hurriedly and out of breath from my sprint. “Don’t let ’em lose you, and there’s money in it.” The little chauffeur grinned delightedly from under his goggles. “Right-o!” he chortled happily, as he cranked; and next second we jumped into the high speed. But that first spurt was short-lived, for we came to sharply applied brakes by the time we had but crossed the avenue. I heard a sharp command as a man dashed from the swing door of a shore-front saloon. Then the door beside me was yanked open, and as quickly closed. “After ’em now, for all that’s in you!” yelled the man who had flopped beside me, and the car lurched forward again. I whirled on the intruder in a rage. “Came near losing ’em, didn’t you?” said he quietly. “_Pawlinson!_” I managed to whisper in my amazement. “I was a trifle dramatic,” he explained easily; “but, from my vantage point of the saloon window yonder, I calculated that maybe two of us might work together better in this case. “And, besides,” he added meaningly, as the cab swayed us to its mad pace, “I want to talk over some things with you.” As I think was natural enough, I had the greatest difficulty in recovering from complete bewilderment. But I did manage finally to blurt out: “And I, too--I’m in the dark about a good many things.” “Just as I thought, of course,” he replied. Then his tone changed to a sharpness, a grittiness of command that didn’t set well with me for a whit. “Now, I want to know,” said he, “just who you are and where you stand.” Though I resented the manner of his query, I couldn’t but realize that he really was entitled to the knowledge. “My name is Tom Grey,” said I, “and I am one of Chief Garth’s men. Last night he detailed me to----” “Yes, yes. I know about that,” he broke in impatiently. “I saw you go in and leave his house. But what I want explained is: How did you happen to mix in on this thing at Port Washington?” “The merest coincidence,” said I, rather lamely. Then I gave him all I knew about it and the way it had come about that I happened to be swinging my feet from the stringpiece of the dock at that particular moment. “Well,” he said, with a tinge of sarcasm, “it was a very unfortunate coincidence, as you call it; for I can tell you it wasn’t any cinch to throw off suspicion in landing that job as engineer of the launch. But I had landed it; and if it hadn’t been for you I could have delayed the start until four of my men arrived. They were coming on the next train from New York.”