Part 5 (2/2)
”How much were they worth?”
Mr. Latham looked him over thoughtfully.
”I am not at liberty to tell you that, Mr. Birnes,” he said at last.
”There are a great number of them, and they are worth--they are worth a large sum of money. And they are all unset. That's enough for you to know, I think.”
It seemed to be quite enough for Mr. Birnes to know.
”It may be that I will have something further to report this evening,” he told Mr. Latham. ”If not, I'll see you to-morrow, here.”
He went out. Ten minutes later he was talking to a friend in police headquarters, over the telephone. The records there showed that the license for the particular cab he had followed had been issued to one William Johns. He was usually to be found around the cabstand in Madison Square, and lived in Charlton Street.
CHAPTER VI
THE MYSTERIOUS WOMAN
Mr. Birnes' busy heels fairly spurned the pavements of Fifth Avenue as he started toward Madison Square. Here was a long line of cabs drawn up beside the curb, some twenty or thirty in all. The fifth from the end bore the number he sought--Mr. Birnes chuckled; and there, alongside it, stood William Johns, swapping Billingsgate with the driver of a hansom, the while he kept one eye open for a prospective fare. It was too easy! Mr. Birnes paused long enough to congratulate himself upon his marvelous ac.u.men, and then he approached the driver.
”You are William Johns?” he accused him sharply.
”That's me, Cap,” the cabby answered readily.
”A few minutes past four o'clock this afternoon you went up Fifth Avenue, and stopped at the corner of Thirty-fourth Street to pick up a fare--a young man.”
”Yep.”
”You drove him to the corner of Sixty-seventh Street and Fifth Avenue,” the detective went on just to forestall possible denials.
”He got out there, paid you, and you went on up Fifth Avenue.”
”Far be it from me to deceive you, Cap,” responded the cabby with irritating levity. ”I done that same.”
”Who was that man?” demanded Mr. Birnes coldly.
”Search me! I never seen him before.”
The detective regarded the cabby with accusing eyes. Then, quite casually, he flipped open his coat and Johns caught a glimpse of a silver s.h.i.+eld. It might only have been accident, of course, still--
”Now, Johns, who was the man in the cab when you stopped to pick up the second man at Thirty-fourth Street?”
”Wrong, Cap,” and the cabby grinned. ”There wasn't any man.”
”Don't attempt to deny--”
”No man, Cap. It was a woman.”
”A woman!” the detective repeated. ”A woman!”
”Sure thing--a woman, a regular woman. And, Cap, she was a pippin, a peachorino, a beauty bright,” he added, gratuitously.
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