at the moment, and gave the
quartette a sharp glance.

"Here, Parker," said Steingall, "tell this man my name."

The policeman came up, looked at the detective, and laughed.

"This is Mr. Steingall, chief of the Detective Bureau," he said to the
bewildered driver, who resumed charge of the car without further ado,
but nevertheless remained uneasy in his mind. And not without cause.
He, poor fellow, all unconsciously, was now gathered into the net which
had spread its meshes so wide in New York that night. He could not
understand why his employer's son should be gallivanting around the
city in company with such questionable looking characters, even though
one of them might be the famous "man with the microscopic eye," but he
was far from realizing that he and his car would help to make history
before morning.

In obedience to orders, he ran along Grand Street, and halted the car
on the south side of W. H. Seward Park.

"Remain here, if we do not return earlier, till one o'clock," Steingall
told him, "and then run slowly along East Broadway to the corner of
Montgomery Street. We are going to Morris Siegelman's restaurant,
which is a few doors higher up, on the north side. If we stroll past
you, pay no heed, but follow at a little distance. Have you got that
right?"

"Yes, sir."

Devar was hugely delighted by the man's discomfited tone.

"Cheer up, Arthur," he said. "You'll be tickled to death to-morrow
when you read the newspapers, and discover the part you played in a big
news item."

"Now, don't forget to lurch about the sidewalk," was Steingall's next
injunction to the amateurs. "Think of all the bad language you ever
heard, and use it. We're toughs, and must behave as such. Can either
of you sing?"

"I can," admitted Curtis.

"That will help some. Strike up any sort of sailor's chanty when we're
in the restaurant."

Late as the hour, East Broadway was full to repletion with a
cosmopolitan crowd. It was a Thursday evening, and the Hebrew Sabbath
began at sunset on the following day, so the poor Jews of the quarter
were out in their thousands, either buying provisions for the coming
holiday or attracted by the light and bustle. Heavy looking Russians,
olive-skinned Italians, placid Germans, wild-eyed and pallid Czechs,
lounged along the thoroughfare, chatting with compatriots, or gathering
in amused groups to hear the strange patter of some voluble merchant
retailing goods from a barrow. F