And with that he stalked down the hall, his
heels clattering on the bare boards. "Hello," he cried loudly. "Sams
is wanted! Hello, Sams!"
A door opened, and a face covered with thick soap suds and surmounted
by a tangle of sandy hair looked out.
"Hello," growled this person, huskily. "Who wants him?"
"Very glad to see you, Mr. Sams," said Ashton-Kirk. "We have a small
matter of business with you that will require a few moments of your
time. May we come in?"
"Sure," said Sams.
They entered the room, which contained a bed, a trunk, a wash-stand,
and a chair.
"One of you can take the chair; the other can sit on the trunk," said
the hack driver, nodding toward these articles. Then he proceeded to
strop a razor at one of the windows. "Excuse me if I go on with this
reaping. I must go out and feed the horse, and then get breakfast."
"You breakfast rather late," commented Ashton-Kirk.
"I'm lucky to get it at any time, in this business," grumbled Sams.
"Out all night, sleep all day, and get blamed little for it, at that."
He posed before a small mirror stuck up beside the window and gave the
blade an experimental sweep across his face. Then he turned and asked
inquiringly:
"Did youse gents want anything particular?"
"We'd like to ask a question or two regarding what happened last night
in Christie Place.
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