There is a little hotel in Princesboro, and just above it is the single taxi stand that the suburb boasts. At precisely twelve-forty next day a young fellow with a glossy little moustache and a nobby green suit issued from the hotel and hailed the first cab in line. It may be said that it was no part of Heberdon’s plan to take the chauffeur into his confidence. In case of a chase, should the man prove unwilling, Heberdon carried that wherewith to persuade him.
With his hand on the door, Heberdon consulted his watch. “Must catch the one o’clock from the Nugent Avenue Station,” he said to the chauffeur with a careless air. “Got to stop at the bank first. The Wool Exchange Trust on the plaza.”
The man nodded. Heberdon got in and pulled the door after him. They started.
Up to this moment He
