“I didn’t think much then of it, but I am thinking now that as the lady got into the coach I heard a sort of cry or scream from her, but the door slammed shut right after it, and I was off at once.” Nick looked at Chick, and the latter said: “It looks, chief, as if you were right as to when the person got into the coach.” “Yes,” said Nick; “that would look as if the man was already in the coach, and the noise that Ethel made was a cry of surprise at finding some one there.” Turning to Rawson, he said: “It looks like a very important point, Rawson, and I wish you would keep up thinking about it. Any little thing about the whole matter tell me of.” What answer Rawson might have made to this was prevented by a man who was evidently a stableman, coming up and addressing Rawson, not knowing who the two were the coachman was talking to. He said: “I say, Rawson, it’s true, isn’t it, that you drove the woman that was killed in the coach yesterday?” “Yes, it’s true; worse luck,” said Rawson. “Well, say,” said the man, “the papers say there wasn’t any man with the woman in that coach. I say there was. What do you say?” “I say there wasn’t,” said Rawson. “Well, you’re wrong there.” Rawson was about to deny this somewhat strongly, but Nick stopped him, and said to the man: “What do you know about it?” “I know there was a man ridin’ with her.” “How do you know it?” asked Nick. “Why,” said the man, “I was standin’ in Sixth Avenue talkin’ with a friend when I saw my friend here, Rawson, pulled up in front of a swell dressmaker’s. “Then I see his lady, the one he drives for, get out and go into the dressmaker’s. “Well, ’twan’t any of my biz, and I wasn’t lookin’ sharp. By and by I happened to look at the coach, and there was a swell in it.” “Are you sure of that?” asked Chick. “Sure. But, anyhow, my friend breaks away and I gets on the trolley to go to the stable. When I gets up to Fifty-eighth Street I goes into a saloon. “When I had put away a couple of beers, I comes out and I stands in front lookin’ at a block a big truck loaded with iron had made, when I see Rawson pulled up. “Then I see my swell guy in the coach open the door on the other side, get out, shut the door after him, and slip over to the other side.” “What’s your name?” sharply asked Nick. “What’s that to you?” replied the other. “Johnny,” said Rawson, “this is Mr. Carter, the celebrated detective.” The man started, a little frightened, and immediately became far more respectful. “My name is Johnny Moran,” he said. “What is your business, Moran?” asked Nick. “I am a stableman, sometimes drivin’ for a livery stable right near where Rawson works.” “He’s all right,” said Rawson. “We worked together in the same stables before, and he is a good man.” “I have no doubt of that. He looks like it,” said Nick. “Now, Moran, what did this man you saw in the coach look like?” “Well, he was a swell.” “Describe him as near as you can.”