Laughing, Maitland bade him good night and left the house, turning west
to gain Fifth Avenue, walking slowly because he was a little tired, and
enjoying the rather unusual experience of being abroad at that hour
without company. The sky seemed cleaner than ordinarily, the city
quieter than ever he had known it, and in the air was a sweet smell,
reminiscent of the country-side ... reminding one unhappily of the
previous night when one had gone whistling to one's destiny along a
perfumed country road....
"Good 'eavings, Mister Maitland, sir! It carn't be you!"
Maitland looked up, bewildered for the instant. The voice that hailed
him out of the sky was not unfamiliar....
A cab that he had waited on the corner to let pass, was reined back
suddenly. The driver leaned down from the box and in a thunderstruck
tone advertised his stupefaction.
"It aren't in nature, sir--if yer'll pardon my mentionin' it. But 'ere
I leaves you not ten minutes ago at the St. Luke Building and finds yer
'ere, when you 'aven't 'ad time--"
Maitland woke up. "What's that?" he questioned sharply. "You left me
where ten minutes--?"
"St. Luke Buildin', corner Broadway an'--."
"I know it," excited, "but--"
"--'avin' took yer there with the young lady--"
"Young lady!"
"--that comes outer the 'ouse with yer, sir--"
"The devil!" Maitland hesitated no longer: his foot was on the step as
he spoke. "Drive me there at once, and drive for all you're worth!" he
cried. "If there's an ounce of speed in that plug of yours and you
don't get it out--"
"Never fear, sir! We'll make it in five minutes!"
"It'll be worth your while."
"Right-O!"
Maitland dropped into his seat, dumbfounded. "Good Lord!" he whispered;
and then savagely: "In the power of that infamous scoundrel------!" And
felt of the revolver in his pocket.
The cab had been headed north; the St. Luke rears its massive bulk
south of Twenty-third Street. The driver expertly swung his vehicle
almost on dead center. Simultaneously it careened with the impact of a
heavy bulk landing upon the step and falling in a heap on the deck.
"My worrd, what's that?" came from aloft. Maitland was altogether too
startled to speak.
The heap sat up, resolving itself into the semblance of a man; who
spoke in decisive tones:
"If yeh're goin' there, I'm goin' with yeh, 'r yeh don't go--see?"
"The sleuth!" gasped Maitland, astounded.
"Ah, cut that, can't yeh?" Hickey got on all fours, found his cigar,
stuck it in his mouth, and fell into place at Maitland's side.
"Hickey, I mean. But how--"
"If yeh're Maitland, 'nd Anisty's at the St. Luke Buildin', tell that
fool up there to drive!"
Maitland had no need to lift the trap; the cabby had already done that.
"All right," the young man called. "It's Detective Hickey. Drive on!"
The lash leaped out over the roof--_cr-rack!_--and the horse,
presumably convinced that no speed other than a dead-run would ever
again be demanded of it, tore frantically down the Avenue, the hansom
rocking like a topsail-schooner in a heavy gale.
Maitland and the detective were battered against the side and back of
the vehicle and slammed against one another with painful regularity.
Under such circumstances speech was difficult; yet they managed to
exchange a few sentences.
"Yeh gottuh gun?"
"Anisty's--two good cartridges."
"Jus' as well I'm along, I guess."