Now, for a little, let us watch the movements of the intelligent servant, Wilkins.
Getting the trunk to the street was no trouble at all. The girl weighed, perhaps, one hundred and twenty pounds, and the trunk itself another fifteen or twenty, and handling that amount of weight was a mere joke to Wilkins. Therefore, he stood in the side street beside the Lasande, having carefully deposited his burden, and looked about for a taxi—and presently one of these bandit vehicles rolled up to the curb and the hard-faced little man behind the wheel barked:
"Taxicab?"
"Yes," said Wilkins. "I wish——"
"Stick the box up front!" snapped the driver. "I kin give you a hand."
"I'm taking the box in back with me," said Wilkins.
"Nothing doing!" said the driver. "What d'ye think that paint's made of—steel?"
It was entirely possible that Mary was stifling by this time. Wilkins used his wits as he fumbled in his pockets and asked:
"Your cab, old chap?"
"Company's!"