They were reaching an area of the city that was lit up by many oil lamps and had fewer staggering drunkards and raging maniacs upon the streets; here there were less tawdry taverns and more sophisticated music halls, theaters, coffee shops and restaurants. Still, it was the same falling snow. Suddenly Julian stopped and caught Matthew’s arm, because on the next block the Owl had hailed a hackney carriage and was climbing into its enclosed space. The door closed, a whip cracked and the single horse started off with a steam-bellowing snort. Matthew realized the man had come to this more elegant district in order to catch a carriage, the likes of which did not roam very far into the darker and more dangerous territory he and Julian had just travelled across.

“Damn!” said Julian. “We’ve lost him!”

But not quite.

“There!” Matthew pointed at a second hackney carriage just pulling to the curb in front of the Sir Toddy’s Music Hall and letting out two couples bundled up in woolens and furs. A woman laughed like the tinkling of chimes, and one of the gentlemen playfully swatted her ample rump as the group lurched toward the music hall’s entrance.

“Go!” Julian said.

They ran for the carriage. “Hire a hack, sir?” the driver asked Matthew from the depths of his coat, muffler and well-worn beaverskin hat.

The carriage carrying the Owl was still in sight, about to swerve toward a roundabout.

Matthew pointed. “Follow that carriage!” he said, as Julian was already climbing in.

“Oh, zounds!” said the driver with a measure of glee. “An intrigue!”

Matthew was going to make certain the man followed the correct vehicle, so instead of climbing into the carriage he grabbed hold of the leather help-you-up grip and hauled himself up onto the seat beside the driver. The whip snapped the frigid air, the horse started moving and Matthew tensed forward like a greyhound on the trail of the fox … or in this case, an eagle on the flight of a lesser bird.

True enough, the roundabout led into a boulevard where many hackneys were converging. Even as the snow flew into his face Matthew fixed his eyes on the Owl’s carriage, and he was aided in this by Julian, who opened the hackney’s door wide enough to be able to lean out and keep watch.

The attitude was of a chase, but the mechanics were of a plod. Neither the Owl’s hackney nor Matthew’s could gain much speed in this weather, so it was more of a slow-motion ramble. At one point Matthew feared his driver was going to smash into the rear of the one ahead, which swerved to avoid another coming in from a street on the right, but with a hollered “Whup, Hermes!” from the driver which seemed to make some sense to the horse the steed slowed in its seeming intentions to crash through to where the Owl sat possibly twisting his head in all directions.

The hackney ahead turned north and so did Matthew’s driver. Matthew thought he could hear the man giggling at this romp, which was likely a departure from his usual more staid nightly work. “Are we chasin’ a jewel thief or an unfaithful wife?” the man called out, almost breaking Matthew’s ear, and Julian shouted from below, “Both!” which made the driver hit the reins as if to make Hermes airborne.