"Attend to this man with Mr. Garth," he said roughly, "I shall see for myself;" and, blaming himself for his simplicity, he caught up his hat and took himself out of the chambers. At the street door he looked up and down, but ho could see no trace of the missing woman. A constable loitered on the pavement some distance away, and although he was a stranger to Fanks the detective accosted him without the least hesitation. This was less the time for considering than for acting. Every moment was precious; every moment lessened the chance of tracking and discovering the woman. Fanks, as a rule, was one of the most self-contained of men, rarely losing his self-control or cool temper, but at this moment he could have sworn freely at his want of caution which had let a possible witness in the case slip through his fingers. But he hoped that there was yet time to retrieve his fault. "Officer," he said, walking quickly up to the constable, "did you see a lady come out of yonder door?" "Yes, sir. The policeman upstairs just asked me about her. She went away in a hansom five minutes ago. I see it drive off like mad." "Were you near at hand?" "Just at her elber, so to speak, sir." "Did you hear what address she gave the cabman?" "What do you want to know for, sir?" asked the policeman, in a gruff way. "That is my business and not yours," retorted Fanks, unused to being thwarted by members of the force; "I am Fanks, the detective, and I am here on business. Quick, man, the address?" As Maxwell had hinted that a detective was upstairs, the policeman at once believed this statement and saluted respectfully. "She didn't give no perticler address, but she jest said Piccadilly promiscus." "What part of Piccadilly?" demanded Fanks, hailing a hansom. "Jest Piccadilly, and no more, sir," repeated the officer. "Do you know the number of the cab?" "No, sir; there weren't no occasion of me to take it." "Of course, of course," muttered Fanks, testily. "Can you describe the hansom? Was there any particular mark, by which I can recognise it?" "Well, sir, I did note as it had a red, white, and blue suncloth over the roof, with a cabby as wore a white beaver, so to speak." "That will do," cried Fanks, jumping into the vehicle which had driven up; "which way did the cab turn?" "To the right, sir; down Piccadilly." "Cabby," cried the detective, as the driver looked through the trap, "go down Piccadilly, and look for a hansom with a red, white, and blue suncloth. It's a sovereign if you catch it." "That's Joe Berners' cab, that is," said Jehu, and drove off briskly, with his fare in a fever of excitement.