For once Joe Leslie was thoroughly aroused, and the detective knew he need have no fears of him again.

Whatever he was given to do he would carry out to the letter.

So they noted with something of satisfaction that the day was drawing to a close, and the night coming on, for their hour could not be reached until darkness had for some time settled down over the great city.

Both were anxious to have the thing over.

It did not give them much pleasure, and all their satisfaction arose in the thought that justice and right would triumph when the man who had plotted against the peace of a home went down among his idols of clay.

In these modern days men have to do strange things when the sanctity of their house has been invaded by a human serpent.Sometimes the stern arm of the law is called upon for assistance.

Now and then, however, we read of some outraged husband going back to old time principles and being a law unto himself on such an occasion.

Long ago they had a means of avenging such wrongs by meeting in the lists with lance or sword—in short, fighting a duel.

The modern way is perhaps the best if least chivalric since it is all in favor of the man who has been wronged, and does not risk his life.

We have seen that Joe was not modern in his ways.

The last thing he desired on earth was to make his misery public.

His love for his wife was wonderful—he only blamed the man who had gained such power over her mind as to make her irresponsible. Just as though there were wizards to-day—the times of Salem witchcraft have not returned to haunt us again, thank heaven.

Joe really did believe—and the shrewd detective allowed the same idea to permeate his own mind to a certain extent—that it was a case where a weak mind was dominated by a masterful one. He had known such cases, and seen examples of hypnotism that had astonished him.

Thus he excused Lillian.

While Eric did not go that far, he believed there were extenuating circumstances connected with the case, and was willing to look upon it all in a most lenient way.

Probably he would have acted in a different manner had it been his own wife who was concerned in the affair.

That was a matter that brought the business down to mere speculation, and when it reached this point it became unprofitable.

When the detective left his friend he had everything arranged.

As far as human sight could see beyond, all was ready for the business in hand.

Should Paul Prescott attempt to put his little game into practice he would find himself brought up rather suddenly.

There was an hour or so of daylight left, and this Eric put to good advantage, as he had a number of little things to do.

One cannot engage to carry out a scheme like this without many accessories being needed, and the wise man looks for these before the time arrives for their use.Gradually the day gave way to evening. Darrell believed all was arranged.

He felt satisfied that before another day came around, Joe’s condition would be changed—this night was the crisis—either his spirits must go down or else rise suddenly.

All depended on one person.

This was Lillian.

To him she was the one object that could affect his future—the lodestone that drew him on.

When he had made his preparations and eaten a light supper down town, Eric started for the scene of the coming comedy.

He could not pierce the future any more than any other human, and hence knew not whether it would remain such or prove to be a tragedy.

Coming events may often cast their shadows before, but there are times when the sun is so nearly in the zenith that this shadow does not amount to very much.

Besides, what does a shadow amount to anyhow—it is not tangible, and presents no opportunity for solution.

For once at least in his life the detective confessed himself unable to insure the future.He knew certain facts, and that others would coalesce, but what the result would be he did not pretend to be chemist enough to decide.

Time alone would tell.

That was the physician who could be depended upon to bind up broken hearts, to solve the deepest mysteries and set everything right.

Given time, nothing was impossible.

As the shades of evening descended, Darrell brought up in the neighborhood of the building on Fourteenth Street where the artist’s studio was located.

He was passing slowly by when a hack drove up and stopped at the curb.

“Engaged?” he asked the driver.

“Sorry, sir, but I am,” returned that worthy. A jehu always hates to lose a fare.

“Can’t accommodate me up town?”

“Right away?”

“Yes.”

“Where to?”

“About Eighty-fourth and Third Avenue.”

The man’s face lighted up—Darrell was answered—he saw a chance of doubling his fare. “I reckon the other’d make no objection. Pay me first, and I’ll tell him I was taken by you.”“How much?”

“One, fifty.”

Without a murmur the detective handed over the amount, submitting to be robbed in order to carry out his point.

Of course he was disguised.

No one would for a moment imagine that this old gentleman was the same athletic individual who had visited Prescott in his studio, and argued with him over a revolver.

The clocks were striking seven as he entered the hack and made himself comfortable.

Along the wide pavement hundreds were still hurrying, although the swarms from all the great stores had long since passed by.

Presently from out the building the artist came. He looked worried, and well he might.

When a man sets out to steal another man’s wife he risks a great deal.

It must weigh upon his mind, even the personal danger involved, though his conscience be free.

Darrell recognized this fact, and did not wonder at the look of anxiety he saw upon the countenance of the artist.

The latter looked up and down the street ere catching sight of the hack at the curb. Then a smile came upon his face.

He walked up to the driver, spoke a few words, frowned when the other mentioned having another passenger, saw no other vehicle in sight that he could engage, glanced in at the seeming old man, and then, grumbling, entered.

“I trust I have not inconvenienced you, sir,” remarked the old gentleman, anxiously.

“Not at all, not at all,” replied the artist courteously, though his manner had belied his words.

They rumbled along.

Block after block was left behind.

It is a long distance from Fourteenth Street up to the point where they were bound, and when half an hour had gone by they had not yet reached their destination.

Indeed, it was not far from eight o’clock when the driver pulled up at the corner.

The old gentleman got out slowly.

He bade his traveling companion good night and turning walked away, his cane beating a lively tattoo upon the stone pavement.

Darrell was satisfied with his investment thus far—he had been carried up town, had seen the artist well upon his way, and knew both driver and vehicle by sight.

There could not very well be any mistake after this—he believed things were well laid out, and that all they needed was a chance to execute their plan.

He again changed his looks, so that in case the artist saw him he would not realize that he had met him before.

With the facilities at his command it was not a difficult thing for him to do this, and by means of a few deft turns he completely altered his character, and might defy recognition, even were keener eyes concerned than those of Paul Prescott, the artist.

When this had been done Darrell walked up the avenue, and soon came to the corner where, as he expected, he found the vehicle.

Prescott was not in sight.

Some two hours must elapse before the time arranged would pass.

The driver had also vanished, no doubt being in a liquor store near by, where he could wet his whistle, lounge at his ease and watch his team at the same time.

His horses would have a good chance to rest before they were needed again, and this was probably one reason why the artist had him on hand at such an early hour.

When young Lochinvar carried off his bride he managed to have a good steed, knowing that everything depended on the swiftness of his flight, as pursuit would be sudden and furious.

So Paul Prescott, with an eye to possible emergencies, had chosen a vehicle that was drawn by a good team of animals.

He showed his wisdom here.

In case of pursuit it might be his salvation.

When the detective sauntered past the house upon which his interest was centered he saw that it was lighted up.

Company was expected.

Lillian had invited a few particular friends in to see them, on account of its being Joe’s birthday.

As yet they had not begun to arrive, but would soon appear upon the scene.

Darrell heard a vehicle coming, and stopped in a dark spot near by.

“The first of the guests,” he muttered.

As the carriage stopped in front of the house he gave a start.“Jupiter! guests with trunks—that’s odd.” There was a trunk up beside the driver, who at once leaped to the ground.

As he opened the door a vision of jaunty wraps and bonnets sprang out and flew up the steps to ring the bell, while Darrell held his breath as he guessed the truth.

The door opened.

“Marian!”

A flutter of feminine apparel, a little shriek of girlish delight, and the sisters were locked in each others’ arms, to the wonderment of the man who watched below.

Then the jehu carried in the trunk, the door closed, the carriage rumbled away and the street resumed its wonted appearance.

Eric was puzzled.

He had not counted on this.

Had any of the others?

What effect would it have on the anticipated elopement, he wondered.

Here was the lover with his vehicle on hand, and such a nature as Paul Prescott’s would not brook interference.

The affair became more complicated.

Darrell would have given something to have had the next two hours over.As it was he had to possess his soul in patience and wait.

Things that he did not dream of were fated to turn up in that time, and he was bound to have his hands full.

Guests soon began to arrive. Several came in carriages, while others were not far enough away to bother with vehicles.

It was no fashionable gathering, but one of warm friends, of whom Joe Leslie had many.

His business and social life was such that he drew people to him, making many friends and few enemies, which is after all the only true way to go through this world.