Indiman laughed heartily. "Why, of course, it's a trap," he said. "That's plain as a pike-staff, whatever a pike-staff itself may be. It's the particular kind of a trap that interests me. The why and the wherefore."
Arrived at the house, Indiman handed a bill to the driver and we ascended the steps. But the cabman seemed dissatisfied with his treatment. "Hey, there!" he called once, and then again. Indiman turned impatiently.
"Well, what is it?" he asked
"You can see for yourself, guv'nor. A mistake, ain't it?"
It was one of the thousand-dollar bills that the honest cabby was holding up. What a phenomenon in the way of a hackman! And yet the New York night-hawks are no fools and thousand-dollar bills are easy to trace. Indiman gave the man fifty dollars as a reward of virtue and he was more than satisfied. But something still remained on his conscience thus agreeably stimulated.
"'Scuse me, guv'nor," he went on, "but here's another little job in the same line of business. I drove a gentleman to your club early in the evening, and he must have left it accidental in the cab. Maybe you know him."
It was a plain white envelope bearing the typewritten address:
Mr. Orrin Chivers, Nos. 13-15 Barowsky Chambers, Seward Square, New York.
The envelope had been opened, but the enclosure still remained in it.
"Thank you," said Indiman. "I'll take charge of it." The cabman touched his hat and drove away.