"Evans'."
Consultation outside.
"Evans's? Which Evans's? There ain't no such 'otel, there ain't no such bar. Ask him which Evans's?"
"Which Evanses did you say, sir?" asked the commissionaire, putting his head in. "The driver don't know which you mean. Where does it lay?"
He got a chuck under the chin that nearly drove his head to the roof of the taxi.
Then Simon's head popped out of the window. It looked up and down the street.
"Where's that chap that put his head through the window?" asked Simon.
A small crowd and a policeman drew round. "What is it, sir?" asked the policeman.
Simon seemed calculating the distance with a view to the bonneting of the enquirer. Then he seemed to find the distance too far.
"Tell him to drive me to the Argyle Rooms," said he. Then he vanished.