Not for an instant did the man suspect that he was the person who had given Rich’s name and address to him. “Does Mr. Rich live here?” the cabman asked of the elevator boy. Carter was standing in the elevator, and he heard what was said. “Mr. Rich lives on the top floor,” the boy replied to the cabman. “Is he in?” the cabman inquired, getting into the elevator. “You can go up and see.” “All right.” When the top floor was reached the elevator boy pointed out Rich’s room. The cabman hurried up and knocked on the door. Carter walked leisurely down the hall. He halted halfway down and looked out of the window. He stood in such a position that he was able to see the cabby. Three times the driver pounded on the door without receiving a response. The fourth time he knocked as if he were going to break in a panel. Some one opened the door. Carter could not see who it was from where he was standing, but he heard the cabman exclaim: “I want to see Mr. Simeon Rich.” “He isn’t in,” a female voice replied. Carter did not recognize it, but he surmised that it belonged to either Sally Rich or Isabella Porter. “I want to see him, miss,” the cabby insolently said. “If he isn’t in I’ll wait until he comes.” “Who are you?” the woman within the room asked. “It doesn’t matter who I am.” “It doesn’t, eh? Well, I guess it does.” “Is Rich in there? If he is, tell him that the cabman who drove him about town on the day before New Year’s wants to see him.” “Let him come in,” a man’s voice called out from the interior of the room. The coachman pushed by the woman and entered the apartment. Instantly the door was closed. Carter hurried up to the door. A transom was above it. It was halfway open. Reaching up, Carter caught hold of the edge of the sill under the transom and pulled himself up until he was able to peer into the room. He beheld Rich and Darwin seated on divans at the side, and two women lolling back in steamer chairs. The cabman was standing in the center of the apartment gazing boldly at Rich. “What do you want?” Rich demanded, in a stern tone, as he glared at the cabby. “Do you want me to talk out before these people?” the cabby asked, looking around the room at those present and waving his hand toward them. “I have no secrets from them.” “You haven’t, eh?” “No.” “Then you must all be in the same boat. This is rich graft.” “What do you mean?” Rich uttered an oath and sprang up. He realized that the cabby knew something. He was enough of a student of human nature to read the man’s intentions in the expression of his face. The cabman did not flinch. “I guess you’ll come to time, Mr. Rich,” he insolently remarked, with a sneer. Rich stood within a few feet of him. He raised his arm above his head, as if he intended to strike the man, but thinking better of it, he allowed it to drop to his side again, and he muttered an oath. Cabby was no fool. He knew what was in Rich’s mind.