“Fine,” cried the young man, poking a $20 bill out through the crack in the door, “and don’t be long.” The door slammed and a great stillness clapped down, broken only by the running of the taximeter, which seemed to be equipped with a motor of its own.
The millionaire cop sat back luxuriously and inhaled a deep breath.
“Gad!” he exclaimed to himself, “I’m really beginning to live. Nothing but thrills for four hours and more and larger ones coming.”
Presently the chauffeur returned, opened the door a few inches and shoved in a small package.
“Ye’ll have to paste ’em on in the dark,” he said. “Or ye can light a match. Ye’ll find a wee mirror in the bundle. Now where’ll I drive yez?”
“Back to me fixed post,” said Gladwin, “only take it easy while I put me face on straight.”
“If ye don’t git it on straighter nor your brogue,” chuckled the chauffeur, “it’ll not decave a blind man.”
In another instant the return journey was under way at reduced speed.
Travers Gladwin first tried on the wig. It was three sizes too large and he had to discard it. Next he had some trouble in deciding which was the mustache and which the eyebrows. He had burned his fingers pretty badly before he made the selection and likewise he had singed one of the eyebrows.