When the hack came to a stop Joe woke up. “Hello here, where are we?”
“At my den;” and Eric got out as the driver opened the door.
“Then I can have another nap before I reach my home.”
“Good night, Joe.”
“Don’t forget to-morrow morning, Eric.”
“I shan’t, you may depend upon it.”
As a sudden thought flashed through his mind he turned and looked at the driver.
Surely this was not the same man who had driven Joe from the bal masque.
The detective did not remember the number of the other vehicle, but had seen the man—both wore the regulation tall stove-pipe hat, without which no cabby is ever seen in New York, if he has any respect for himself, but there was a decided difference in the height of the men.
This again puzzled Eric.