Arrived in New York, John Hartley lost no time in ascertaining where Dan and his mother lived. In order the better to watch without incurring suspicion, he engaged by the week a room in a house opposite, which, luckily for his purpose, happened to be for rent. It was a front window, and furnished him with a post of observation from which he could see who went in and out of the house opposite.

Hartley soon learned that it would not be so easy as he had anticipated to gain possession of the little girl. She never went out alone, but always accompanied either by Dan or his mother.

Hartley was disappointed. If, now, Althea were attending school, there would be an opportunity to kidnap her. As it was, he was at his wits' end.

At last, however, opportunity favored him.

On the evening of the party Mrs. Mordaunt chanced to need some small article necessary to the work upon which she was engaged. She might indeed wait until the next day, but she was repairing a vest of Dan's, which he would need to wear in the morning, and she did not like to disappoint him.

"My child," she said, "I find I must go out a little while."

"What for, mamma?"

"I want to buy some braid to bind Dan's vest. He will want to wear it in the morning."

"May I go with you, mamma?"

"No, my child. You can be reading your picture-book till I come back. I won't be long."

So Mrs. Mordaunt put on her street dress, and left the house in the direction of Eighth avenue, where there was a cheap store at which she often traded.

No sooner did Hartley see her leave the house, as he could readily do, for the night was light, than he hurried to Union Square, scarcely five minutes distant, and hailed a cab-driver.

"Do you want a job, my man?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Can you hold your tongue?"

"Yes, sir, if necessary."

"It is necessary."

"There is nothing wrong, sir, I hope."

"Certainly not. My child has been kidnapped during my absence in Europe. With your help I mean to recover her."

"All right, sir."

"She is in the custody of some designing persons, who keep possession of her on account of a fortune which she is to inherit. She does not know me to be her father, we have been so long separated; but I feel anxious to take her away from her treacherous guardians."

"You are right, sir. I've got a little girl of my own, and I understand your feelings. Where shall we go?"

Hartley gave the proper address. Fifteen minutes afterward the cab drew up before Mrs. Brown's door, and Hartley, springing from it, rang the bell. It so happened that Mrs. Brown was out, and a servant answered the bell. She looked inquiringly at the visitor.

"A lady lives here with a little girl," he said, quickly.

"Yes, sir; Mrs. Mordaunt."

"Precisely; and the little girl is named Althea."

"You are right, sir."

"Mrs. Mordaunt has been run over by a street-car, and been carried into my house. She wishes the little girl to come at once to her."

"Is she much hurt?" asked Nancy, anxiously.

"I am afraid her leg is broken; but I can't wait. Will you bring the little girl down at once?"

"Oh, yes, sir. I'll lose no time."

Nancy went up stairs two steps at a time, and broke into Mrs. Mordaunt's room breathless.

"Put on your hat at once, Miss Althea," she said.

"What for?" asked the child, in surprise.

"Your ma has sent for you."

"But she said she was coming right back."

"She's hurt, and she can't come, and she has sent for you. Don't cry, my dear."

"But how shall I know where to go, Nancy?"

"There's a kind gentleman at the door with a carriage. Your ma has been taken to his home."

The little girl began to cry once more.

"Oh! I'm afraid mamma's been killed," she said.

"No, she hasn't, or how could she send for you?"

This argument tended to reassure Althea, and she put on her little shawl and hat, and hurried down stairs.

Hartley was waiting for her impatiently, fearing that Mrs. Mordaunt would come back sooner than was anticipated, and so interfere with the fulfillment of his plans.

"Is mamma very much hurt?" asked Althea, anxiously.

"So she calls this woman mamma," said Hartley to himself.

"Not very badly, but she cannot come home to-night. Get into the carriage, and I will tell you about it as we are riding to her."

He hurried the little girl into the carriage, and taking a seat beside her, ordered the cabman to drive on.

He had before directed him to drive to the South Ferry.

"How did mamma get hurt?" asked the child.

"She was crossing the street," said Hartley, "when she got in the way of a carriage and was thrown down and run over."

The child began to cry.

"Oh, she will die!" she exclaimed, sobbing.

"No, she will not die. The carriage was not a heavy one, luckily, and she is only badly bruised. She will be all right in a few days."

John Hartley was a trifle inconsistent in his stories, having told the servant that Mrs. Mordaunt had been run over by a street-car; but in truth he had forgotten the details of his first narrative, and had modified it in the second telling. However, Nancy had failed to tell the child precisely how Mrs. Mordaunt had been hurt, and she was not old enough to be suspicious.

"Where is mamma?" was the little girl's next question.

"She is at my house."

"Where is your house?"

"Not far from here," answered Hartley, evasively.

"Then I shall soon see mamma."

"Is she your mamma?" asked Hartley.

"No, not my own mamma, but I call her so. I love her dearly."

"Where is your own mamma?"

"She is dead."

"Do you remember her?"

"A little."

"Have you a papa?"

"My papa is a very bad man. He treated poor mamma very badly."

"Who told you this?" demanded Hartley, frowning. "Was it Mrs. Mordaunt?"

"No; it was auntie."

"I thought this was some of Harriet Vernon's work," said Hartley to himself. "It seems like my amiable sister-in-law. She might have been in better business than poisoning my child's mind against me."

"Who else lives with you?" he asked, partly out of curiosity, but mainly to occupy the child's mind, so that she might not be fully conscious of the lapse of time.

"My brother Dan."

"How old is Dan?"

"I don't know. He is a good deal bigger than me."

"Do you like Dan?"

"Oh, yes; Dan is a nice boy. He buys me candy. He has gone to a party to-night."

"Has he?"

"And he won't be home till late. He told mamma so."

"I am glad of that," thought Hartley. "It is the better for my purpose."

"Dan is a smart boy. He earns lots of money."

"What does he do?"

"I don't know. He goes down town every morning, and he doesn't come home till supper time."

Hartley managed to continue his inquiries about Dan, but at last Althea became restless.

"Are we most there?" she asked.

"Yes, we are almost there."

"I don't see how mamma could have gone so far."

John Hartley looked out.

"I see how it is," he said. "The cab-driver lost the way, and that has delayed us."

This satisfied the child for a time. Meanwhile they reached the South Ferry, and Hartley began to consider in what way he could explain their crossing the water.