Mr. Birnes' busy heels fairly spurned the pavements of Fifth Avenue
as he started toward Madison Square. Here was a long line of cabs
drawn up beside the curb, some twenty or thirty in all. The fifth
from the end bore the number he sought--Mr. Birnes chuckled; and
there, alongside it, stood William Johns, swapping Billingsgate with
the driver of a hansom, the while he kept one eye open for a
prospective fare. It was too easy! Mr. Birnes paused long enough
to congratulate himself upon his marvelous acumen, and then he
approached the driver.

"You are William Johns?" he accused him sharply.

"That's me, Cap," the cabby answered readily.

"A few minutes past four o'clock this afternoon you went up Fifth
Avenue, and stopped at the corner of Thirty-fourth Street to pick up
a fare--a young man."

"Yep."

"You drove him to the corner of Sixty-seventh Street and Fifth
Avenue," the detective went on just to forestall possible denials.
"He got out there, paid you, and you went on up Fifth Avenue."

"Far be it from me to deceive you, Cap," responded the cabby with
irritating levity. "I done that same."

"Who was that man?" demanded Mr. Birnes coldly.