"There has been a murder," said Ashton-Kirk, quietly, thinking to jog
him along.
Sams threw the towel from him and sat down upon the bed.
"A murder!" said he, his eyes and mouth wide open. "Well, what do you
know about that." He sat looking from one to the other of them,
dazedly, for a space; then he resumed: "Say, I thought there was
something queer about that stunt of hers!"
"Tell us about it," suggested Ashton-Kirk, crossing his legs and
clasping one knee with his hands.
The cabby considered once more.
"There's lots of things that a guy like me sees that look off color,"
he said, at length; "but we can't always pass any remarks about them.
It would be bad for business, you see. But this murder thing's a
different proposition, and here's where I tell it all. Last night
while I was waiting in front of McCausland's, I hears an automobile
turn into the street. It was some time after I got there. I wouldn't
have paid much attention to it, but you see there's a fellow been
trying to get my work with a taxicab, and I thought it was him."
"And it wasn't?"
"No, it was a private car--a Maillard, and there was a woman driving
it."
The chair upon which Pendleton sat was an infirm one; it creaked
sharply as he made a sudden movement.
Pages:
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100