"Get in first and I'll give it to you."
Then we heard the creaking of the springs, and the dim, shadowy form of the big man lumbered into the light vehicle. A gurgle and a long-drawn "ah-h-h" followed, then,—
"Got a cigar?"
"Yes; but hadn't we better wait until we get back on Canal Street before lighting them? We want to look out for those other fellows in that cab, you know."
"Oh, d—n them! You can see their lamps half a mile off. Here, give us a match."
Another minute and a feeble glare illuminated the dark interior. Pale and blue at first, it speedily gained strength and lighting power. Eagerly we scanned the two faces, now for one never-to-be-forgotten instant revealed to our gaze. One lowering, heavy-browed, coarse, and bearded; the other—ah, well I knew I had heard that voice, for there, half muffled in the heavy coat, half shrouded by the slouching hat, were the pale, clear-cut, dissipated features I had marked so keenly at Sandbrook. It was the face of Ned Peyton.
CHAPTER XIV.
Another minute the match, spluttering in the damp night air, was extinguished; but I had seen enough. To the amaze of my companion, to the scandal of any legal or professional education I might have had, indignation got the better of all discretion, and I burst through the shrubbery and laid my hand on the rein.
"Mr. Peyton, I believe," said I, in a tone intended to be double-shotted with sarcasm. "Think we had the pleasure of meeting at Judge——"