"That's me. I seen he was sore when the dame turned him down, too, and started right off wondering if maybe it wasn't a jealousy plant. I seen this sorta thing happen before. Not that I blame him for feeling cut up: that was one swell piece of goods you bundled into numba two-thirty."
P. Sybarite's cigar dropped unheeded from his lips.
"What!" he cried.
The detective started.
"Wasn't that the numba of the lady's cab—two-thirty?"
"Good God!" ejaculated P. Sybarite, jumping up.
"What's hit you?"
"I'm going!" the little man announced fiercely.
"Your time allowance ain't expired by several minutes—"
"To hell with my time allowance! Try to keep me, if you like!"