carried a shiny coachman’s hat in his hand.     

       “Struck it right fust time,” the porter remarked cheerfully. “This is the man, sir.”      

       Mr. Sabin turned his head.     

       “You drove a lady from here to the New York, New Haven & Hartford Depot last Friday?” he asked.     

       “Well, not exactly, sir,” the man answered. “The Duchess took my cab, and the first address she gave was the New York, New Haven & Hartford Depot, but before we’d driven a hundred yards she pulled the check-string and ordered me to go to the Waldorf. She paid me there, and went into the hotel.”      

       “You have not seen her since?”      

       “No, sir!”      

       “You knew her by sight, you say. Was there anything special about her appearance?”      

       The man hesitated.     

       “She’d a pretty thick veil on, sir, but she raised it to pay me, and I should say she’d been crying. She was much paler, too, than last time I drove her.”      

       “When was that?” Mr. Sabin asked.     

       “In the spring, sir,—with you, begging your pardon. You were at the Netherlands, and I drove you out several times.”      

       “You seem,” Mr. Sabin said, “to be a person with some powers of observation. It would pay you very well indeed if you would ascertain from any of your mates at the Waldorf when and with whom the lady in question left that hotel.”      

       “I’ll have a try, sir,” the man answered. “The Duchess was better known here, but some of them may have recognised her.”      

       “She had no luggage, I presume?” Mr. Sabin asked.     

       “Her dressing-case and jewel-case only, sir.”      

       “So you see,” Mr. Sabin continued, “it is probable that she did not remain at the Waldorf for the night. Base your inquiries on that supposition.”      

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