"My God, how you startled me!"
"I'd have bet my last dollar you hadn't the nerve to—ahem! I—I—Say, take a tip from me. Beat it! Don't hang around here waitin' for that girl. That guy in there is beginning to see straight again, and if he was to bust out here and find you—Well, it would be something awful!"
"Get me a taxi, you infernal idiot!" roared the conqueror in flight, addressing the starter.
"Have one here in five minutes, sir," began the taxi starter, grabbing up the telephone.
"Five minutes?" gasped Stuyvie, with a quick glance over his shoulder. "Oh, Lord! Tell one of those chauffeurs out there I'll give him ten dollars to run me to the Grand Central Station. Hurry up!"
"The Grand Central?" exclaimed the detective. "Great Scott, man, you don't have to beat it clear out of town, you know. What are you going to the Station for?"
"For a taxi, you damn' fool," shouted Stuyvie. "Say, who was that man in there?"
"Didn't you know him?"
"Never saw him in my life before,—the blighter. Who is he?"
The detective stared. He opened his mouth to reply, and as suddenly closed it. He, too, knew on which side his bread was precariously buttered.