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It was from the low curves of these equine rickshaws that I first learned to love Paris and Calcutta and the water-lilies of Georgetown. One of the first rites which I perform upon returning to New York is to go to the Lafayette and, after dinner, brush aside the taxi men and hail a victoria.
"You are ill. I will put you in a taxi." "You don't understand," said Sarakoff. "You are in it still. Don't you see I'm a traveller?" "He is mad," whispered a waiter in my ear. "A traveller," shouted the Russian. "But I've come back. Greeting, brothers. It was a rough journey, but now I hear and see you."
"Except lunch," I added, as the taxi rounded the corner of Piccadilly and drew up outside the Café Royal. What the manager of that renowned restaurant must have thought of us, I find it rather difficult to guess. It is not often, I should imagine, that two untidy mud-stained men and a beautiful girl turn up at four o'clock in the afternoon and demand the best meal that London can provide.
And Winton went out under the trellis, conscious of that forlorn figure still standing at the half-opened door. Betty was nowhere in sight; she must have reached the turning. His mission had succeeded, but he felt no elation. Round the corner, he picked up his convoy, and, with the perambulator hoisted on to the taxi, journeyed on at speed.
An old football player, his bent head and iron shoulder were sufficient for the commissionaires, and, plunging directly Across the pavement and the street, he leapt into a taxi which was crawling along in the direction of Charing Cross. "Give you a sovereign to get to Charing Cross in three minutes," he cried out, and the man, accepting the spirit of the thing, thrust in his clutch, eagerly.
"Taxi, sir?" asked the commissionaire. "We'll walk, thanks," said Osborn. Walking was a sort of recreation not too dowdy. They went a little way on foot, then turned into a Tube station and travelled home. When they wormed their way down a crowded tube train compartment to two seats they were faced with the everyday aspect of life again.
He must have known it wasn't much of a chance. Either he lost his head, or he wasn't very bright. What could have made him try?" Scotty had no answer, nor could Rick even hazard a reasonable guess. They locked the cabin of the Water Witch, walked into town, and found a taxi. Their shadow did not show up again, and if a new tail had replaced him, the new one was too good to be spotted.
"I heard you'd left the office and I thought something might have happened, and I'd be near enough so you could get me quick." "Nothing has happened. I'll get along nicely with this cab. You'd better keep a good distance and not come home until tomorrow morning." "Very well, sir. That suits us fine." Farrell grinned. The taxi started on and Farrell turned off at the next crossroad.
East, when the scheme, whatever it was, might be no more than an innocent freak; so Biddy said nothing to Queen Cleopatra or her Roman attendant. She slipped across the garden to the hotel, and sent an Arab messenger off in a taxi with a note to the address "Antoun" had told her would find him.
Believing the quarry would remain where he was for another half hour at least, the inspector slipped unobserved out of the room, and jumping once more into his taxi, was driven back to the little restaurant off Cranbourne Street. He sent for the manager and drew him aside.
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