The car jolted over cross tracks twice, with a very brief interval between, and Barry knew it was the Twenty-ninth and Twenty-eighth Street surface lines. In a few seconds they would reach Twenty-third, where a slowing down at least would be imperative. There were always policemen about that corner. Should he plunge forward at the right moment, smash the glass of the door near him, and risk a shot from the revolver, or should he quietly let things take their course, in the hope of finding out something which would help to clear the mystery? He finally decided on the latter course, at least until he could have time to sound his captor, and, relaxing in his corner, he promptly proceeded to that end. "I suppose you know what you’re doing?" he remarked suddenly. "I generally do," the unknown drawled. "Really?" murmured Lawrence. "Then you must realize that you’re running a considerable risk, taking the law into your own hands this way." The other chuckled. "Law!" he exclaimed. "You’re a great one to talk about the law, when you’re——" He broke off abruptly, much to Barry’s disappointment, and the latter retorted swiftly: "Nabbed, am I? Will you be good enough to tell me what crime I am charged with?" "Ha! ha! That’s good. As if you didn’t know without any telling! You’ll find out soon enough, my friend." "You think so?" Barry retorted sharply. "I hope you’re taking me to a station house or before a magistrate, where this matter can be straightened out at once." "You want——" the man began incredulously, then paused. "Of course that’s what I want," Lawrence put in swiftly. "What’s more, I demand it. I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of—nothing I’m afraid of having the whole world know. Just take me before a magistrate, and see how long your flimsy charges, whatever they may be, will hold me." There was an instant’s pause, then the man laughed. "Ha! ha! Sounds good, but you can’t fool me that way. I’ve heard that line of talk before, many a time." Superficially his tone was confidence itself, but Barry’s alert senses caught a faint note of hesitancy in his voice which was at once puzzling and encouraging. "Very likely," the Harvard chap retorted. "Perhaps you’ve also observed the consequences of holding up an innocent man at the point of a gun, and carrying him off against his will. I recall one instance where the judge was hard-hearted enough to define it as kidnaping. The perpetrator was sent up for six years, as I remember." This time the stranger’s laugh was decidedly forced. "You’re wasting your breath," he said, with some curtness. "You may be slick enough to put it over that foreign bunch across the pond, but, we ain’t so easy over here." Lawrence started ever so slightly, and drew a quick, noiseless breath. He had not the most remote idea what the man was talking about, but the fact was instantly apparent that it had nothing whatever to do with Tappin and the Beekman Trust Company.