Winthrop felt the blood rise to his face. That Miss Forbes should hear this rat of a man sneering at the one she was to marry, made him hate Peabody. But he answered easily:
“No one ran away. I told my chauffeur to go and call up an ambulance. That was the man you saw.”
As when “leading on” a witness to commit himself, Mr. Schwab smiled sympathetically.
“And he hasn’t got back yet,” he purred, “has he?”
“No, and I’m not going to wait for him,” returned Winthrop. He reached for the clutch, but Mr. Schwab jumped directly in front of the car.
“Was he looking for a telephone when he ran up the Elevated steps?” he cried.
He shook his fists vehemently.
“Oh, no, Mr. Winthrop, it won’t do—you make a good witness. I wouldn’t ask for no better, but, you don’t fool ‘Izzy’ Schwab.”
“You’re mistaken, I tell you,” cried Winthrop desperately. “He may look like—like this man you speak of, but no Peabody was in this car.”
“Izzy” Schwab wrung his hands hysterically.