"Would you know the man again?"
"I would know his voice, I expect, sir; I could not see much: he wore a slouch hat and had a traveling-bag of some kind."
"What did he say to the woman?" I asked.
"He didn't say much. Before he closed the door, he said, 'You have put me in a terrible position,' or something like that. From the traveling-bag and all, I thought perhaps it was an elopement, and the lady had decided to throw him down."
"Was it a young woman or an old one," I asked again. This time the cabby's tone was assured.
"Young," he asserted, "slim and quick: dressed in black, with a black veil. Soft voice. She got out at Market Square, and I have an idea she took a cross-town car there."
"I hardly think it was Miss Maitland," I said. "She was past sixty, and besides—I don't think she went that way. Still it is worth following up. Is that all?"
He fumbled in his pocket, and after a minute brought up a small black pocket-book and held it out to me. It was the small coin purse out of a leather hand-bag.
"She dropped this in the cab, sir," he said. "I took it home to the missus—not knowing what else to do with it. It had no money in it—only that bit of paper."
I opened the purse and took out a small white card, without engraving. On it was written in a pencil the figures: C 1122