distanced."Now," he chuckled, behind his false beard, "you may drive as fast as you please, M. Cabby."

The man whipped up his horses, and drove furiously along the hilly street of the Faubourg St. Martin.

Finally the cab stopped in front of a wine-store, and the driver jumped down from his seat, and went in.

The detective also left his uncomfortable post, and crouching in a doorway, waited for Gypsy and her companion to get out, with the intention of following closely upon their heels.

Five minutes passed, and still there were no signs of them.

"What can they be doing all this time?" grumbled the detective.

With great precautions, he approached the cab, and peeped in.

Oh, cruel deception! it was empty!

Fanferlot felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice-water over him; he remained rooted to the spot with his mouth stretched, the picture of blank bewilderment.

He soon recovered his wits sufficiently to burst forth in a volley of oaths, loud enough to rattle all the window-panes in the neighborhood.

"Tricked!" he said, "fooled! Ah! but won't I make them pay for this!"

In a moment his quick mind had run over the gamut of possibilities, probable and improbable.

"Evidently," he muttered, "this fellow and Gypsy entered one door, and got out of the other; the trick is simple enough. If they resorted to it, 'tis because they feared being watched. If they feared being watched, they have uneasy consciences: therefore--"

He suddenly interrupted his monologue as the idea struck him that he had better attempt to find out something from the driver.

Unfortunately, the driver was in a very surly mood, and not only refused to answer, but shook his whip in so threatening a manner that Fanferlot deemed it prudent to beat a retreat.

"Oh, Lord," he muttered, "perhaps he and the driver are one and the same!"

But what could he do now, at this time of night? He could not imagine. He walked dejectedly back to the quay, 

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