“Then you must go up town and get a hack.”

Moriarity turned back to the shore, and climbing the bank, hurried in the direction of the city.

Left alone with his victim, the desperado bent over him, placing his hand on Chip’s heart.  It beat steadily, though not strongly, and Cummings experienced a feeling of relief when he felt the regular pulsations,

He had never yet shed blood, and his first passion having died out, he was glad that the thick ice had defeated his first purpose.

The stunned detective stirred, the cold, crisp air was reviving him, and Cummings, his better nature asserting itself, hastily doffed his overcoat and threw it over the recumbent form of his captive.

It was not very long before the noise of carriage wheels were heard, and Moriarity running out on the ice assisted Cummings in carrying Chip to the land and placed him in the carriage, which he had caught on the way to town.

The driver, who had been told that “one of the boys had got more than he could carry,” did not concern himself to investigate too closely, and having received his order, drove briskly from the scene.

The darkness and open country gave way to gas-lights and paved streets, over which the carriage rattled at a lively pace.  Turning into a side street, Dan pulled the check-strap, and the carriage turned to the curb and stopped.

The detective, still unconscious, was lifted out, the driver paid and dismissed, and the two men, bearing Chip between them, entered a dark, narrow alley.

Proceeding up this for some distance, they entered the low door of a basement and placed their still insensible burden on the floor.

The damp, moldy smell of an underground room filled the air, and but for a slender beam of light which flashed beneath an adjoining door the place was dark as night.

Softly stealing to the door, Moriarity applied his ear to the key-hole, and hearing no sounds within, gave a peculiar double rap on the panel.

Receiving no answer, he cautiously opened the door and disclosed a small, square room, having a low ceiling, and lighted by a single low-burning gas jet.

On the walls hung a large astronomical map, showing the solar system, and divided with the girdle of the zodiac into its various constellations.

A grinning skull, mounted on a black pedestal, stood on a small table in the center of the room, and on shelves against the wall were ranged a number of curiously-shaped bottles.

It was, in fact, the divining-room of a professional fortune-teller.

The room was vacant when Moriarity opened the door, but as he threw it back, a small bell was sounded.

Almost instantly heavy curtains which hung opposite the door were pushed aside, and the fortune-teller appeared.

Advancing with stately strides, her tall form erect and her hands clasped before her, she fastened a pair of cruel, glittering eyes on Moriarity and in a deep voice asked: