“Where can I find John Murphy?” eagerly enquired Mr. Lane.

“He’s probably on the stand.”

“Drive me there if you please.”  And he sprang into the carriage.

In a few minutes they were at a carriage stand; and Mr. Lane heard the driver call out, as he reined up his horses—­“Hallo! there, John Murphy! here’s a gentleman who wants to see you.”

The person addressed came up as Mr. Lane descended from the carriage.

“I understand,” said Lane, “that you received a lady and child in your carriage, last night, from the New York line.  Where did you take them?”

“Who said that I did?” boldly inquired the man addressed.

“I said so!” as firmly replied the driver who had given the information to Mr. Lane.  “What interest have you in denying it?”

Murphy evinced some surprise at this, and looked a little dashed, but repeated his denial.

A new fear instantly seized Mr. Lane.  His wife might have been entrapped into some den of infamy, through means of the driver she had employed to convey her to an hotel.  The thought affected him like an electric shock.

“You are certain of what you say?” asked Mr. Lane, turning to the hackman he had employed.

“Certain,” was answered positively.

“Is there a police officer near at hand?” was the next inquiry.  This was intended as no threat; and Murphy understood its meaning.

The eyes of Mr. Lane were fixed on his face, and he saw in it a guilty change.  No reply being made to the question about a police officer, Mr. Lane said, addressing the accused hackman—­

“If you wish to escape trouble, take me instantly to the house where I can find the lady you took from the boat last night.  She is my wife, and I will go through fire and water to find her; and let him who stands in my way take the consequences.”

Murphy now drew Mr. Lane aside, and said a few words to him hurriedly.

“Can I depend upon what you say?” eagerly asked the latter.

“Yes, upon honour!” replied the hackman.

“You must go with me,” said Lane.

“I cannot leave the stand.”

“I will call a policeman and compel you to go with me, if you don’t accompany me peaceably.  As I live, I will not part from you until I find her!  Take your choice—­go quietly, or under compulsion.”

There was a fierce energy in the excited man that completely subdued the Irish hackman, who, after a further, though feeble remonstrance, got into the carriage with Mr. Lane, and was driven off.  The course taken was out—­street.  Some distance beyond Washington Square, the carriage stopped before a house, in which Mr. Lane was informed that he would find the woman whom Murphy had taken from the boat the night before.  He stepped out quickly, and, as he sprang across the pavement, Murphy, who was out of the carriage almost as soon as he was, glided around the corner of a street, and was beyond recall.  A quick jerk of the bell was answered by a female servant, who held the door only partly open, while Lane addressed her.