An East Orange doctor, who had received his instructions from the police, paid a second visit to Mick the Wolf shortly before the hour of Mrs. Carshaw's arrival in Atlantic City. "Well, how is the arm feeling now?" he said pleasantly, when he entered the patient's bedroom. The answer was an oath. "That will never do," laughed the doctor. "Cheerfulness is the most important factor in healing. Ill-temper causes jerky movements and careless--" "Oh, shucks," came the growl. "Say, listen, boss! I've been broke up twice over a slip of a girl. I've had enough of it. The whole darn thing is a mistake. I want to end it, an' I don't give a hoorah in Hades who knows. Just tell her friends that if they look for her on board the steamer _Wild Duck_, loadin' at Smith's Pier in the East River, they'll either find her or strike her trail. That's all. Now fix these bandages, for my arm's on fire." The doctor wisely put no further questions. He dressed the wounded limb and took his departure. A policeman in plain clothes, hiding in a neighboring barn, saw him depart and hailed him: "Any news, Doc?" "Yes," was the reply. "If my information is correct you'll not be kept there much longer." He motored quickly to the police-station. Within the hour Carshaw, with frowning face and dreams of wreaking physical vengeance on the burly frame of Voles, was speeding across New York with Steingall in his recovered car. He simply hungered for a personal combat with the man who had inflicted such sufferings on his beloved Winifred. The story told by Polly Barnard, and supplemented by Petch, revealed very clearly the dastardly trick practised by Voles the previous evening, while the dodge of smearing out two of the figures on the automobile's license plate explained the success attained in traversing the streets unnoticed by the police. Steingall was inclined to theorize. "The finding of the car puzzled me at first, I admit," he said. "Now, assuming that Mick the Wolf has not sent us off on a wild-goose chase, the locality of the steamer explains it. Voles drove all the way to the East Side, quitted the car in the neighborhood of the pier, deposited Miss Bartlett on board the vessel under some plausible pretext, and actually risked the return journey into the only part of New York where the missing auto might not be noticed at once. He's a bold rogue, and no mistake." But Carshaw answered not. The chief glanced at him sideways, and smiled. There was a lowering fire in his companion's eyes that told its own story. Thenceforward, the run was taken in silence. But Steingall had decided on his next move. When they neared Smith's Pier Carshaw wished to drive straight there. "Nothing of the sort," was the sharp official command. "We have failed once. Perhaps it was my fault. This time there shall be no mistakes. Turn along the next street to the right. The precinct station is three blocks down."