The last place in the world Mathison intended going at this hour. The devil and the deep blue sea! He was confident that she would do just as she threatened—walk. But this he knew: the moment he entered this taxi it would become a trap—a trap he would jump into with the greatest cheerfulness, alone. What to do? He could not give her any warning, with the strange chauffeur's ear scarcely a foot off. And under no circumstances must the blond man see Norma Farrington's face this night.
"A compromise," he said, believing he had found a solution to the difficulty. "I'll go with you if you will let me take you home first."
"Agreed!" she cried, readily. She smiled in the dark of the cab. This was exactly what she wanted. Once at the apartment, she would discharge this taxi and order one she was tolerably sure of.
He laughed and sprang into the cab. The snow was coming down thickly. Corners were dim; the street-lamps hung in a kind of pearly twilight. A strange silence fell upon them.
I don't suppose either of them marked the turns. Perhaps the impenetrable haze had something to do with it. You are not ordinarily attracted by nebulous objects. Again, it might have been due to the fact that they were both fatalists. Suddenly the cab stopped with a slewing jerk. The door opened. The man who opened it presented his arm stiffly. Neither Miss Farrington nor Mathison had to be informed regarding that blue-black bit of metal at the end of that arm. She shrank back, but not in fear. Her idea was to give Mathison all the elbow room he might require.
"Step out, both of you, with your hands up—quickly!"
CHAPTER XIV
"Do what you think best," she murmured across Mathison's shoulder. "Please do not consider me at all."