“About two weeks ago,” said Florence, now addressing the hack-driver, “a tall woman, dressed in black, was taken, with her trunk, from a house in Fifth Street near Noble. Do you remember any thing about it? Were you the driver?”
“I was,” replied the man.
The whole frame of Miss Harper quivered instantly with an eager impulse.
“Can you take me to the house where you left her?” she asked.
The man stood in thought for some moments, and then answered,—
“I think so.”
“Will you accompany me?” Florence spoke to the girl.
“Certainly, miss: I’m at your service.”
“Drive me there as quickly as possible.” And Florence stepped toward the door of the carriage, which was instantly thrown open by the hackman. Entering, with the girl, she seated herself, and was soon driven rapidly away toward the northern part of the city, and through streets with the aspect of which she was unfamiliar. At last the carriage stopped before a house of not over-inviting exterior. It was old, dingy-looking, and had a deserted aspect, all the shutters being closed to the third story.
“This is the place, miss,” said the driver, as he opened the carriage-door.