away in a motor-car from the New Bedford wharf the previous morning: beyond doubt one of Seneca Trine's first lieutenants.
At the same time, at the point where the V had paused, a wild uproar lifted up. A cry was audible—"Firebug! Lynch him! Lynch the firebug!" And at this the mob turned and streamed away in pursuit of an invisible quarry, who chose to attempt his escape by a route directly opposite to that which would have led him within view of Mr. Barcus.
Barcus was on the point of stepping out of his cab when he was stayed by sight of the evil white face returning, still in the hollow of the flying V. And now Barcus saw that the man of the white face was not alone. There was a woman with him. And, Barcus reflected, why might not this be Rose Trine, suffering new persecution at the hands of her unnatural father's creatures?
He was too far away to make sure, but he pointed White Face out to his chauffeur as the V reached a touring-car and the woman was lifted in (unresisting and apparently in a dead faint), and when the touring-car started away the taxicab of Mr. Barcus trailed it.
Ten minutes later, from the rear deck of a ferry-boat in midstream, a boat bearing back to New York not only the touring-car of White Face but the cab of Mr. Barcus, the latter gentleman witnessed an in-
