"I don't want to drive to the village. What have you got there, a sleigh?"
It was the usual Long Island depot-wagon, on runners instead of wheels.
"Do you know the Willow Villa?" demanded Ruthven.
"Wilier Viller, sir? Yes, sir. Step right this way—"
"Wait!" snapped Ruthven. "I asked you if you knew it; I didn't say I wanted to go there."
The hackman in his woolly greatcoat stared at the little dapper, smooth-shaven man, who eyed him in return, coolly insolent, lighting a cigar.
"I don't want to go to the Willow Villa," said Ruthven; "I want you to drive me past it."
"Sir?"
"Past it. And then turn around and drive back here. Is that plain?"
"Yes, sir."