The cab, probably, was from the stand in Dupont Circle; and the cabby
likely was asleep inside the cab, with a bit too much rum aboard.
Nevertheless, the matter was worth a step into Eighteenth Street and a
few seconds' time. It might yield only a drunken driver's mutterings at
being disturbed; it might yield much of profit. And the longer Harleston
looked the more he was impelled to investigate. Finally curiosity
prevailed.
The door of the cab was closed and he looked inside.
The cab was empty.
As he opened the door, the sleeping horse came suddenly to life; with a
snort it struggled to its feet, then looked around apologetically at
Harleston, as though begging to be excused for having been caught in a
most reprehensible act for a cab horse.
"That's all right, old boy," Harleston smiled. "You doubtless are in
need of all the sleep you can get. Now, if you'll be good enough to
stand still, we'll have a look at the interior of your appendix."
The light from the street lamps penetrated but faintly inside the cab,
so Harleston, being averse to lighting a match save for an instant at
the end of the search, was forced to grope in semi-darkness.
On the cushion of the seat was a light lap spread, part of the equipment
of the cab.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25