“Hurry then. It’s just across the street from Westover Court——” His voice ceased; she heard another voice, faintly, and an exclamation from her husband; then his hurried voice over the wire: “The doorman just sent word to hurry. The car number is N. Y. 015 F 0379! I’ve got to run! Good-b——”
He left the booth at the end of Peacock Alley, ran down the marble steps to the left and out to the snowy sidewalk, passing on his way a young girl swathed to the eyes in chinchilla who was hurrying into the hotel. As he came to where the limousine was standing, he saw that it was still empty although the door stood open and the engine was running. Around the chauffeur stood the gold laced doorman, the gorgeously uniformed carriage porter and a mounted policeman.
“Hey!” said the latter when he saw Cleves,—“what’s the matter here? What are you holding up this car for?”
Cleves beckoned him, whispered, then turned to the doorman.
“Why did you send for me? Was the chauffeur trying to pull out?”
“Yes, sir. A lady come hurrying out an’ she jumps in, and the shawfur he starts her humming——”
“A lady! Where did she go?”
“It was that young lady in chinchilla fur. The one you just met when you run out. Yessir! Why, as soon as I held up the car and called this here cop, she opens the door and out she jumps and beats it into the hotel again——”
“Hold that car, Officer!” interrupted Cleves. “Keep it standing here and arrest anybody who gets into it! I’ll be back again——”