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When the car had well entered the crosstown Seventies it swung eastward a half block and stopped before a row of high-stooped, brownstone-front houses. "Be kind enough to enter my house with me," said the sealskinned gentleman when they had alighted. "He's going to dig up, sure," reflected Thomas, following him inside. There was a dim light in the hall.
"Sir, I thank you for your kind rescue of my tire. And I would ask you, if I may, a question. Do you know the family of Van Smuythes living in Washington Square North?" "Oughtn't I to?" replied Thomas. "I lived there. Wish I did yet." The sealskinned gentleman opened a door of the car. "Step in please," he said. "You have been expected." Thomas McQuade obeyed with surprise but without hesitation.
But the look was not so construed. The sealskinned gentleman received the tire, placed it inside the car, gazed intently at the ex-coachman, and muttered to himself inscrutable words. "Strange strange!" said he. "Once or twice even I, myself, have fancied that the Chaldean Chiroscope has availed. Could it be possible?" Then he addressed less mysterious words to the waiting and hopeful Thomas.
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