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Updated: June 2, 2025
Sarakoff shivered and drew his dressing-gown closely round him. I paid the man half-a-sovereign. There was a seat near by and Sarakoff deposited himself upon it. I joined him. On those heights the morning air struck chill. London, misty-blue, lay before us. The taxi-man took out his pipe and began to fill it. "Lucky me comin' along like that," he observed.
"As I was saying, after I collected stamps, I collected knives any sort of old rusty knife and then I joined the force and began to collect men, I collected all sorts o' men tall and short, fat and thin. Now why did I do that?" "It seems to me," observed the taxi-man, suddenly calm, "that somebody will be collecting you soon, and there won't be no need to arsk the reason why."
They've gone and invented this 'ere Blue Disease." The policeman raised his helmet a little and the taxi-man uttered an exclamation. "Why, you've got it yourself," he said, and stared. The policeman's eyes were stained a vivid blue. "An immortal policeman!" murmured Sarakoff dreamily. The discovery seemed to discomfit the taxi-man.
With the quiet speed of one who knows that hurry defeats haste, he set about materializing the plans which he had made upon the train. And circumstance, repentant of former caprice, seemed willing to serve. The very first taxi-man he questioned was an intelligent fellow who knew more about Vancouver than its various hotels. A launch?
Then he stopped and eyed each of us in turn. His boots were muddy. "These gents," said the taxi-man, "'ave been and done something nasty." The phrase seemed attractive to him and he repeated it. The policeman, a tall muscular man, surveyed us in silence. Sarakoff, his hair and beard dishevelled, was leaning back in a corner of the seat, with his legs crossed.
"That's all right, sir," said the taxi-man, "I have your papers here"; he handed Desmond a couple of slips of paper which he took from his coat-pocket; "those will take you back to France all right, I think you'll find!" Desmond looked at the papers: they were quite in order and correctly filled up with his name, rank and regiment, and date.
"You had better wait for us," said Bristol to the taxi-man. "Very good, sir. But I shan't be able to take you further back than the Brixton Garage. You can get another cab there, though." A clock chimed out an old-world chime in keeping with the loneliness, the curiously remote loneliness, of the locality. Less than five miles from St.
Hearing the noise of the door, he turned his head he was wearing a bowler hat and a smart white muffler and said to G.J., with self-respecting respect for a gentleman: "This is No. 170, isn't it, sir?" "Yes." The taxi-man jerked his head to draw G.J.'s attention to the interior of the vehicle. Christine was half on the seat and half on the floor, unconscious, with shut eyes.
And now, I shall be glad, Sowerby, if you will be after that taxi-man again. Report at one o'clock. I shall be here." With his hand on the door-knob: "By the way," said Sowerby, "who the blazes is Mr. King?" Inspector Dunbar looked up. "Mr. King," he replied slowly, "is the solution of the mystery."
My landlady shuffled across and pushed one of them open. "And this is the bedroom, sir. It's what you might call 'andy and quiet too. You'll find that a nice comfortable bed, sir. It's the one my late 'usband died in." "It sounds restful," I said. Then walking to the doorway I paid off the taxi-man, who had deposited his numerous burdens and was waiting patiently for his fare.
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