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"A very striking book! I always think it one of Bourget's very best." He poured forth an energetic cataract of words in praise of Miss Cronin's favourite author, and presently got away without any further quite definite misunderstanding. But when he was out in the corridor on his way to the lift he indulged himself in a very unwonted expression of acrimonious condemnation.
Pasa was close by his side, her head covered with the ubiquitous black mantilla. Mr. Vincenti looked at her attentively. "Botticelli's Madonna," he remarked, gravely. "I wonder when she got into the game. I don't like his getting tangled with the women. I hoped he would keep away from them." Captain Cronin's laugh almost drew attention from the parade. "With that head of hair!
I don't believe you're the regular driver, anyway. Where'd you get it?" "It ain't my cab, of course," said Gallegher, with an easy laugh. "It's Luke McGovern's. He left it outside Cronin's while he went in to get a drink, and he took too much, and me father told me to drive it round to the stable for him. I'm Cronin's son. McGovern ain't in no condition to drive.
The stranger was beginning to evidence uneasiness, and he turned questioningly to his conductor, with a growing frown. "Say, what are you leading me into, Chief?" Shirley said nothing but strode to the rear of the floor, through the door of Captain Cronin's sanctum. The old detective was covered with a steamer shawl, as he stretched out on a davenport.
He was soon talking with the son of the murdered man. "Meet me down at the Vanderbilt Hotel ask for Mr. Hepburn's room, and send up the name of Williams. See you in an hour. Good-bye." Hanging up the receiver, he turned toward the door, after a friendly pat on Cronin's shoulder. The bell rang, and the Captain reached for it, to sink back exhausted upon the bed.
I don't believe you're the regular driver, anyway. Where'd you get it?" "It ain't my cab, of course," said Gallegher, with an easy laugh. "It's Luke McGovern's. He left it outside Cronin's while he went in to get a drink, and he took too much, and me father told me to drive it round to the stable for him. I'm Cronin's son. McGovern ain't in no condition to drive.
I don't believe you're the regular driver, anyway. Where'd you get it?" "It ain't my cab, of course," said Gallegher, with an easy laugh. "It's Luke McGovern's. He left it outside Cronin's while he went in to get a drink, and he took too much, and me father told me to drive it round to the stable for him. I'm Cronin's son. McGovern ain't in no condition to drive.
What now?" he ran to the instrument, and he heard Captain Cronin's excited voice. "Shirley. The man's escaped again! They just came into the place. He threw some sort of bottle at the front of the patrol wagon which blew it all to pieces. He got away in the mix-up three policemen were injured!" "I'll get him, Captain, if it's the last act of my life."
Before I could speak we heard it again; but this time, now that we were awake, it sounded less like a human shriek than the shrill yelp of an animal. The sounds came from directly under us; and for the instant all I could think of was Cronin's murdered wife! Addison had turned to stare at the dark cellar doorway, when we heard it yet again a wild staccato yelp, prolonged and quavering.
As he slowly approached Miss Cronin he endeavoured resolutely to bear himself like a man who had not proposed that day for Miss Van Tuyn's hand. But preposterously, Miss Cronin's absurd misconception seemed to have power over his conscience, and that again over his appearance and gait. He was fully aware, as he went forward to convey Miss Van Tuyn's message, that he made a very poor show of it.
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