“No,” replied the clerk, very positively.

Then they interviewed the porter.  He remembered the “woman” having stepped inside the hotel.  She readjusted her veil in the lobby near the doorway.

“Then she went outside, spoke to a driver, got into his cab, and went away,” continued the porter.

“She spoke to the driver, did she?” Eph asked.

“Of course, sir,” retorted the porter.  “You didn’t think she made signs, did you?”

From their talk the submarine boys were satisfied that it was the same “woman” whom Eph had so gallantly assisted.  They were equally sure that this veiled “woman” in gray was none other than Millard.

“Do you remember which driver it was whose cab she engaged?” Jack asked, turning to hand the porter a dollar.

“Jack Medway’s cab, sir,” was the quick answer.  “And here it comes, now.”

The submarine boys hurried out, transferring their attention to Medway.

“I’m just back from taking the lady,” replied the driver, after Jack Benson had slipped him, also, a dollar bill.  “But say—­was it a lady, or a joke?”

“Why?” queried Jack Benson.

“Well,” replied the driver, “the voice was pitched high, but there was something peculiar about it.  I wondered, at the time, if it was a man rigged and togged out like a woman.”

“Where did she tell you to take her,” Jack Benson wanted to know.

“To Furnam Square!”

“Did you take her to any address there?”

“No; just to the square.  Then I waited to fill my pipe, and I saw the woman, if woman it was, walk across the square and get into another cab.”

“If you haven’t anything else to do,” hinted Jack, “suppose you take us to Furnam Square now.”

Within a very few minutes the three friends were gazing out of a cab window upon the square.  It looked like a very quiet residence section.

“There was another cab here, you say, that took your last ‘fare’ from this square?” asked Jack.

“Yes; there is a fellow who has a regular stand here.  It’s his cab,” replied Medway.

“Let us know, then, when that particular driver gets back here,” begged Jack.  “We’ll sit here in your rig and wait.”

Medway grinned.  Waiting, as well as driving, meant money for him.

Fully an hour and a half dragged by.  Jack was beginning to wonder if it would not be better to give up this present clue to the chase, when Medway, leaning down from his box, called quietly.

“That’s the other fellow and his rig, coming back into the square now.”

“As soon as he stops,” directed Benson, “drive us over alongside.  Don’t say anything to him.  Let me do the talking.”

In a moment more Jack was out on the sidewalk, talking earnestly with the driver just returned.

“You’ve had a long trip of it,” guessed Jack, noting the warm condition of the horses.