"Here y'are, miss."
Still no answer. Spike clambered stiffly from the car, circled to the curb, and stuck his head in the door.
"Here, miss—"
Spike stepped back. Then he again put his head inside the cab.
"Well, I'll be—"
The thing was impossible, and yet it was true. Spike gazed at the seat.
The woman had disappeared!
The thing was absurd; impossible. He had seen her get into the cab at the Union Station. There, in the front of the car, was her suit-case; but she had gone—disappeared completely, vanished without leaving a sign.
Momentarily forgetful of the cold, Spike found a match and lighted it. Holding it cupped in his hands, he peered within the cab. Then he recoiled with a cry of horror.
For, huddled on the floor, he discerned the body of a man!