“Yep,” replied the man, without interest.
Mr. Donalds had not lived some fifty years for nothing. He knew how to inspire enthusiasm. He put his hand into his pocket.
“Yes, sir!” answered the driver promptly, in a brisk and earnest tone. “They came out here. I noticed ’em because she was in such a hurry. I thought there was something queer about it. Anyways, she took Wickey’s cab.”
“Where did they go?”
“Couldn’t tell you that, sir. They started up the avenoo; but they might ’a’ bin goin’ anywheres.”
“Where can I find this Wickey?” inquired Mr. Donalds.
“Well, I don’t know, sir. He’ll prob’ly come back here before long. Him and me are buddies, an’ we gen’rally eat lunch together, if we can. O’ course, lots o’ times[Pg 251] we can’t. F’r instance, I might have to go out any minute now.”
“What’s the number of his cab?”
“Don’t know, sir—didn’t notice. You see, we don’t always take out the same one. Some days the one you’re used to is laid up.”
Mr. Donalds reflected hastily.