He smiled encouragingly at Miss Forbes.
“I could not!” growled Winthrop. “The man wasn’t hurt, the policeman will tell you so. It is not of the least public interest.”
With a deprecatory shrug, the young man smiled knowingly.
“Well, mebbe not the lady’s name,” he granted, “but the name of the other gentleman who was with you, when the accident occurred.” His black, rat-like eyes snapped. “I think his name would be of public interest.”
To gain time Winthrop stepped into the driver’s seat. He looked at Mr. Schwab steadily.
“There was no other gentleman,” he said. “Do you mean my chauffeur?” Mr. Schwab gave an appreciative chuckle.
“No, I don’t mean your chauffeur,” he mimicked. “I mean,” he declared theatrically in his best police-court manner, “the man who to-day is hoping to beat Tammany, Ernest Peabody!”
Winthrop stared at the youth insolently.
“I don’t understand you,” he said.
“Oh, of course not!” jeered “Izzy” Schwab. He moved excitedly from foot to foot. “Then who was the other man,” he demanded, “the man who ran away?”