He raised his stick to the driver, in event of him being free--and
stepped out from the sidewalk.
The man shook his head in negation and the machine flashed by--leaving
Harleston staring after it with a somewhat surprised and very much
puzzled frown.
Madeline Spencer was in the taxi--alone. Furthermore, she had not seen
him.
XVIII
DOUBT
At N, the next cross-street, the taxi turned west. Instantly Harleston
made for the corner. When he got there, the machine was swinging north
into Connecticut Avenue. He ran down N Street at the top of his speed.
When he reached the avenue the car was not in sight, nor was there any
one on the street as far as Dupont Circle; and as thoroughfares radiate
from the Circle as the spokes of a wheel from the hub, the taxi could
have gone in practically any direction.
So he gave over running--running after a taxi-cab was not in his
line--and resumed his walk northward. At Dupont Circle he found a lone
cab with a drowsy negro on the box; who came quickly to life, however,
at his approach.
"Cab, seh, cab?" he solicited.
"Which way did the yellow taxi go that just came up Connecticut Avenue?"
Harleston asked.
"Out Massachu'ts abenu', seh, yass seh.--Cab, seh?"
"Drive out Massachusetts Avenue," Harleston directed, getting in.
Pages:
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227