a throb, the great car leaped, humming, to the road.

At midnight the lights of Harlem lay ahead. The ride from the hills,
three hours of storm and squirting gravel, had been made with the
persistent whir and drone of a speeding engine. But once had it rested
black and silent in a lonely road of dripping trees, while the driver
hurried into a roadside tavern and telephoned.

Now, with a purring sigh as a bridge loomed ahead, the car slackened
and stopped. Carl slowly lighted a cigarette. At the end of the
bridge a straggler struck a match and flung it lightly in the river,
the disc of his cigar a fire-point in the shadows.

The car rolled on again and halted.

A stocky young man behind the fire-point emerged from the darkness and
climbed briskly into the tonneau.

"Hello, Hunch," said Carl.

"'Lo!" said Hunch and stared intently at the robe.

"Take a look at him," invited Carl carelessly. "It's not often you
have an opportunity of riding with one of his brand. He's in the
_Almanach de Gotha_."

"T'ell yuh say!" said Hunch largely, though the term had conveyed no
impression whatever to his democratic mind.

Cautiously raising the robe Hunch Dorrigan stared with interest at the