"Yes, sir." The man saluted, without turning his head. Lawrence leaped in, the porter slammed the door, and the car started off with a jerk. The next instant Barry realized that he was not alone. A shadow in the farther corner of the wide seat had suddenly come to life. But before the surprised Harvard man could so much as lift a finger, the cold barrel of an automatic revolver was pressed firmly against his temple, and a cool, steely voice said in his ear: "Just sit tight, and don’t let a yip out of you, my friend, if you want to keep your brains where they belong!" *CHAPTER XXIII.* *BY FORCE OF ARMS.* For a moment Lawrence sat rigid, stunned with surprise at the unexpected audacity of the thing. Then, as the car swung around the corner of Fifth Avenue, a bright glare of light streamed in through the front window, full upon the face of the individual beside him. To Barry’s intense astonishment, and not a little to his chagrin, he recognized the supposed broker who had occupied the next compartment that afternoon in the Belmont café. "So it’s you!" he exclaimed aloud. The man reached forward with his left hand, and jerked down the front curtain, plunging the interior of the limousine into almost utter darkness. "It sure is," he returned coolly, but with an undercurrent of satisfaction in his voice. The hand which held the automatic against Barry’s head did not relax. Lawrence had an odd impression that, even through the length of immovable steel, he could feel the fellow’s muscles tensed, and his whole being alert for the slightest stirring on the part of his prisoner. He did not really believe that the man would actually pull the trigger, no matter what happened, but under such circumstances one does not feel anxious to put beliefs like that to a test. As the car whirled southward without a single pause or even slowing down—at that hour traffic regulations were very much relaxed—Lawrence strove desperately to bring some order to the chaos of his mind. Who was the audacious unknown, and what could possibly be his purpose in acting in this high-handed manner? He recalled vividly the strange attack which had been made on him several nights before. Was this a natural sequence of that assault, and of the persistent shadowing which had been going on ever since? Was this fellow hand in glove with the bearded man and his gawky, foreign-looking confederate? Or was he acting in behalf of Tappin and the bank officials? Where was he himself being taken, and for what object?