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"By your leave!" chanted a porter behind them, and a baggage-truck clove them apart. "We can't talk in a crowded station," said Derek irritably. "Let me get you to the taxi and take you to the hotel. . . . What do you want to know about Jill?" "Everything. Where does she come from? Who are her people? I don't know any Mariners." "I haven't cross-examined her," said Derek stiffly.
Since Goodloe had not cut off the connection, the mingled clamor of the station came to the listening ear; the incessant clicking of the telegraph instruments on Goodloe's table, the trundling roar of a baggage-truck on the station platform, the cacophonous screech of the passenger-engine's pop-valve.
An American street crowd is gifted with a fine sense of humor, and the sight of these two veteran officers perched on a baggage-truck and reconnoitring their ground was full of suggestion. "Don't jump on us, major: we couldn't stand them feet!" shouted one jovial tough. "A speech from Old-Man-Afraid-Of-His-Dignity!" sang out a second.
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