th his name, which the hackman had
brought for Kate. It was a forgery, and Mr. Loraine could hardly control
his anger. I related to him our adventure at Harlem, and described the
scene on the top of the hack.

"Served him right!" exclaimed he.

"I may have killed him," I added.

"I hope you did," replied he, bluntly. "I will go and see Kate at once."

On our arrival at the hotel, we found the hackman there who had driven
us out to Harlem.

CHAPTER XXI.

IN WHICH ERNEST VISITS MADISON PLACE.

"I'M waiting for you," said the hack-driver, as I entered the office of
the hotel with Mr. Loraine.

"What do you want of me?" I demanded, supposing the villain was charged
with the execution of some further design upon me.

"I want my money," he growled.

"What money?"

"For driving you out to Harlem."

"Do you expect me to pay that?"

"As the gintleman didn't pay me, I expect you to do so," he replied,
with refreshing coolness.

"Where is the gentleman now?" I asked; and, wishing to obtain some
information in regard to Tom, if I could, I did not decline to pay his
demand.

"I don't know where he is."

"What became of him?"

"With the help of some people I found in the bar-room, I took him into
the public house. Bedad, it was a hard crack you guv him," added the
hackman, in a low tone. "If you pay me the tin dollars, I won't say
anything agin you."

"You carried him into the public house," I repeated. "What then?"

"Wait till I tell you. Begorra, I thought he was kilt, sure," he
replied, in confidential whispers. "A bad scrape it was, and I didn't
want to be in it; so I jumped on my box and druv off telling 'em I was
goin' for a docther."

"Don't you know what became of him?"

"Faix, I do. Two hours afther, I sent a frind of mine, one Michael
Mallahy, that lives convanient to the public house, to go and drink a
glass of beer at the bar-room, and inquire for the man that was hurted.
Now pay me my tin dollars, and I won't say a word."

"Did your friend find out about the man that was hurt?" I inquired,
putting my hand into my pocket.

"Faix, he did. The gintleman wasn't kilt at all. He came out of it with
only a sore head, and left the public house all alone by himself."

"Haven't you heard of him since?"

"Not one word; and I don't know where in the world is he."

"And he didn't pay you?" I added, withdrawing my hand empty from my
pocket.

"He did not thin."

"He served you just right,