So the detective walked out to the street, and found the hack waiting.
The driver greeted him.
“Glad to see you on deck—it was a mistake after all. Now drive me to the corner you brought me from and the fee is yours.”
“Good.”
Away they rattled.
The detective felt inclined to smoke, and was soon puffing a cigar out of the window, as he did not want to saturate his clothes with the strong odor, fearing lest Marian might be one with her sister in objecting to tobacco.
Then he wondered what time it was.
They had started at ten minutes to ten and made wonderful time, so that it could not be very late, he thought.
Taking out his watch as they crossed the bridge over the Harlem, he found that it was fifteen minutes after eleven.
Would he be in time?