“What in time does this mean?” cried he, as another vehicle shot by us, coming from the opposite direction.
He started pounding on the glass.
But our driver, for a moment, paid no attention. Instead, he swung the car toward the curb and brought up short before the door of a large house.
We both sprang out to the sidewalk, and as we stood there our little chauffeur hastened to explain.
“Them folks stopped their car and went in that there house,” said he, in a funny, staccato voice. “And the car’s gone back.”
Instinctively Pawlinson and I started to mount the first step of the stoop, though reason might well have prompted another course.
Then the little chauffeur enlightened us further.
“And now I guess that’ll be about all to-day, gentlemen,” he chortled gleefully, as he slid up his goggles to his forehead.
That kind of eye shield certainly is effective on occasion. For, just as the taxi jumped into speed, it left us there on the sidewalk in our first but most convincing recognition.
“Stevens!” we fairly yelled, in unison.