Proof that his shot had not missed its mark was supplied to John immediately upon his arrival at the office on the following morning, when he was met by Pugsy Maloney with the information that a gentleman had called to see him.

"With or without a black-jack?" enquired John. "Did he give any name?"

"Sure. Parker's his name. He blew in oncst before when Mr. Smith was here. I loosed him into de odder room."

John walked through. The man he had seen with Mr. Scobell at the Knickerbocker was standing at the window.

"Mr. Parker?"

The other turned, as the door opened, and looked at him keenly.

"Are you Mr. Maude?"

"I am," said John.

"I guess you don't need to be told what I've come about?"

"No."

"See here," said Mr. Parker. "I don't know how you've found things out, but you've done it, and we're through. We quit."

"I'm glad of that," said John. "Would you mind informing Spider Reilly of that fact? It will make life pleasanter for all of us."

"Mr. Scobell sent me along here to ask you to come and talk over this thing with him. He's at the Knickerbocker. I've a cab waiting outside. Can you come along?"

"I'd rather he came here."

"And I bet he'd rather come here than be where he is. That little surprise packet of yours last night put him down and out. Gave him a stroke of some sort. He's in bed now, with half-a-dozen doctors working on him."

John thought for a moment.

"Oh," he said slowly, "if it's that--very well."

He could not help feeling a touch of remorse. He had no reason to be fond of Mr. Scobell, but he was sorry that this should have happened.

They went out on the street. A taximeter cab was standing by the sidewalk. They got in. Neither spoke. John was thoughtful and preoccupied. Mr. Parker, too, appeared to be absorbed in his own thoughts. He sat with folded arms and lowered head.

The cab buzzed up Fifth Avenue. Suddenly something, half-seen through the window, brought John to himself with a jerk. It was the great white mass of the Plaza Hotel. The next moment he saw that they were abreast of the park, and for the first time an icy wave of suspicion swept over him.

"Here, what's this?" he cried. "Where are you taking me?"

Mr. Parker's right hand came swiftly out of ambush, and something gleamed in the sun.

"Don't move," said Mr. Parker. The hard nozzle of a pistol pressed against John's chest. "Keep that hand still."

John dropped his hand. Mr. Parker leaned back, with the pistol resting easily on his knee. The cab began to move more quickly.

John's mind was in a whirl. His chief emotion was not fear, but disgust that he should have allowed himself to be trapped, with such absurd ease. He blushed for himself. Mr. Parker's face was expressionless, but who could say what tumults of silent laughter were not going on inside him? John bit his lip.

"Well?" he said at last.

Mr. Parker did not reply.

"Well?" said John again. "What's the next move?"

It flashed across his mind that, unless driven to it by an attack, his captor would do nothing for the moment without running grave risks himself. To shoot now would be to attract attention. The cab would be overtaken at once by bicycle police, and stopped. There would be no escape. No, nothing could happen till they reached open country. At least he would have time to think this matter over in all its bearings.

Mr. Parker ignored the question. He was sitting in the same attitude of watchfulness, the revolver resting on his knee. He seemed mistrustful of John's right hand, which was hanging limply at his side. It was from this quarter that he appeared to expect attack. The cab was bowling easily up the broad street, past rows and rows of high houses each looking exactly the same as the last. Occasionally, to the right, through a break in the line of buildings, a glimpse of the river could be seen.

A faint hope occurred to John that, by talking, he might put the other off his guard for just that instant which was all he asked. He exerted himself to find material for conversation.

"Tell me," he said, "what you said about Mr. Scobell, was that true? About his being ill in bed?"

Mr. Parker did not answer, but a wintry smile flittered across his face.

"It was not?" said John. "Well, I'm glad of that. I don't wish Mr. Scobell any harm."

Mr. Parker looked at him doubtfully.

"Say, why are you in this game at all?" he said. "What made you butt in?"

"One must do something," said John. "It's interesting work."

"If you'll quit--"

John shook his head.

"I own it's a tempting proposition, things being as they are, but I won't give up yet. You never know what may happen."

"Well, you can make a mighty near guess this trip."

"You can't do a thing yet, that's sure," said John confidently. "If you shot me now, the cab would be stopped, and you would be lynched by the populace. I seem to see them tearing you limb from limb. 'She loves me!' Off comes an arm. 'She loves me not!' A leg joins the little heap on the ground. That is what would happen, Mr. Parker."

The other shrugged his shoulders, and relapsed into silence once more.

"What are you going to do with me, Mr. Parker?" asked John.

Mr. Parker did not reply.

* * * * *

The cab moved swiftly on. Now they had reached the open country. An occasional wooden shack was passed, but that was all. At any moment, John felt, the climax of the drama might be reached, and he got ready. His muscles stiffened for a spring. There was little chance of............