He was on the track of the man whom he had seen walking away from the spot to which everybody else was hurrying.
The avenue was brightly lighted, but the man was not in sight. By rapid, clever work, Nick traced him to Forty-first Street, where he had entered a carriage.
A hackman, who had seen this, did not remember ever to have seen the carriage or the driver or the passenger before.
“Was the man looking about for a carriage when you first saw him?” asked Nick.
“No; he knew where to find one,” was the reply.
“Did he give any directions to the driver?”
“He held up his hand in a queer sort of way, and the driver nodded. Nothing was said.”
Evidently the carriage had been waiting, and the coachman and the passenger knew each other well. They would be harder to trace on that account.
For the moment Nick gave up the chase. He returned to the crowd around the unconscious woman.
She still lay where Nick had last seen her. A policeman had come, and had rung for an ambulance.