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WILLIAM CHARVAT
American Fiction Collection
The Ohio State University Libraries


THE OWL TAXI
HULBERT FOOTNER
* £
. . . . .





THE OWL TAXI
BY
HULBERT FOOTNER
AUTHOR of “THE SUBSTITUTE MILLIONAIRE,” “THIEVEs wiT,”
“THE SEALED VALLEY,” ETc.
NEW © YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY


COPYRIGHT, 1921,
BY GEORGE. H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


TO
G. M. F.
WHO FILLED THE TANK THREE
TIMES A DAY AND KEPT THE
CHILDREN MODERATELY QUIET.





CHAPTER
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
CONTENTS
THE TRANSFER . . . .
•
*
©
GREG's FIRST FARE . . . . . . .
GREG's SEcond FARE . . . . . .
IN THE House oN NINTH STREET .
THE TAxI YARD
GREG's RIVAL
THE UNDERTAKER . . . . .
THE HOLD-UP . . . . . .
THE FLIvvER As A PosT-OFFICE . . .
AMY's STORY
THE RIDE HOME
WHAT THE LITTLE BLACK Book CoNTAINED
DE SocoTRA HIRES T7OII AGAIN . . .
THROUGH THE STREETs .
NINA . . . . . . . . .
THE “PsychoPATHIC SANITARIUM” .
PAGE
I I
25
37
56
74
86
97
I22
I33
161
I68
187
2O5
218
228
XVIII
THE YoUNG MAN WITH THE LITTLE BLACK
MoUSTACHE
BLossom's REPORT . . . .
239
25 I


W111 Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
XIX THE ABDUCTION . . . . .
XX ExIT SENOR SAUNDERs . . . . . . 27o
XXI UP-STAIRS AND Down . . . . . . 280
XXII NEMESIS . . . . . . . .
XXIII CoNCLUSION • • • • * •
. . 296
. . 3O5


THE OWL TAXI





THE OWL TAXI
CHAPTER I
THE TRANSFER
T eleven o'clock of a moist night in December,
Gregory Parr was making his way far westward
on Twenty-third Street. At his right hand stretched
that famous old row of dignified dwellings with pilas-
ters and little front yards, and ahead of him was
Tenth Avenue, the stronghold of the Irish. The wet
pavements glistened under the street lamps, and the
smell of influenza was in the air. The street was
deserted except for a cross-town car at long intervals,
hurling itself blithely through the night on a flat wheel.
Greg was on his way to the Brevard Line pier at
the foot of the street to take passage on the great
Savoia, premier steamship of her day and on this par-
ticular trip the “Christmas ship.” The Savoia ran as
true to the hour as a railway train, and was scheduled
to leave at one A. M. in order to make the best rail
connections. There was no reason why Greg should
have walked to the pier except that at the last moment
his heart was loath to leave little old New York, and
even the least interesting of her streets called to him.
11


I2 The Owl Taxi
As he walked he communed with himself somewhat
after this fashion: “Lord! I didn't know the old burg
meant so much to me till I made up my mind to leave
it! After all maybe I'm a fool to pull up stakes here.
I know the folks on this side; their ways are my ways.
I speak New York. Perhaps in London I'll be like a
fish in the grass.” But his baggage was on the pier
and he had paid a deposit on his ticket. It never oc-
curred to him that he could still change his mind. On
such trifles do the weightiest human decisions turn!
He crossed Tenth Avenue and passed through the
long block beyond with its escarpments of dark fac-
tories on either hand. At Eleventh Avenue the street
opened into a plaza with the ferry houses facing him
from the other side, and a long line of steamship piers
stretching south, of which the Brevard pier was the
nearest. Over the pier sheds Greg saw the masthead
light of the Savoia gleaming brightly and heard the
soft murmur of escaping steam. On the corner was a
little waterfront hotel, the Brevard House, with in-
viting brilliantly lighted bar. Greg was irresistibly
drawn to enter. “One last drink to my own town,” he
said to himself.
Within, the bar was absolutely typical, and there-
fore dear to Greg. There was the very red and well-
wiped mahogany counter, finished with a round cornice
to lean the elbows on, and with a brass rail below for
feet. Behind the counter the usual elaborate structure
of mahogany and plate glass reared itself to the ceiling,
a super-mantel-piece as it were, while between counter
and mirrors moved a pink-cheeked young man, in com-
mand, one might say, of the battalion of bottles behind


The Transfer I3
him. Bar-tenders used to be mustachioed, but now they
are smooth and pink-cheeked.
To Greg's disappointment he found the place al-
most empty; he desired company; he longed to hear the
racy speech of the Manhattan pavements before he
finally shook their dust from his feet. There were two
travelers, but they, having downed their drinks, were
preparing to leave; across the room sitting at a table
was a human derelict, without which no picture of a
bar-room would be complete—but he was sleeping un-
der his hat like a candle under its extinguisher. The
only other customer present was a taxi-driver who was
making friendly overtures to the bar-tender. For some
reason the pink-cheeked one scorned him. These in-
stinctive antipathies are impossible to explain; the bar-
tender was perfectly willing to hob-nob with the two
travelers—invited to drink with them he took a swig
out of his private stock of cold tea with gusto and
charged them fifteen cents for the privilege; but as for
the poor taxi-driver, well, they did not belong to the
same herd, that was all.
Rebuffed in this direction the driver turned eagerly
to the latest comer, Greg. There was something al-
most pathetic in his anxiety to make friends. Every
soul has those moments of desperate lonesomeness.
Greg was not at all backward in responding. The
driver was a spare little man in an overcoat sizes too
big for him and almost reaching the ground. Greg was
reminded of an old illustration of the Artful Dodger.
He had a sharp, humorous, apelike face, much seamed,
and in his eyes was a light at once childlike, impudent
and deprecating. Taxi-drivers, that is to say “owl-


I4 The Owl Taxi
drivers” like this one, wear no uniform, but they are
unmistakable. It may be their overcoats which are
full of character. This one was incredibly worn and
shapeless. With it went a round cloth cap with a flap
let down behind to protect the wearer's ears and neck.
“Say fella,” said this individual with engaging im-
pudence; “drink with me, will yeh, if it's not a libetty?”
“Sure,” said Greg, “if you'll have another with me
after.”
“What are you drinking?”
“Rye high-ball.”
“Well I don't gen’ally dilute my liquor but just to
be high-toned—say Jack! Two rye high-balls.”
The refreshment was duly served. Greg noticed that
as the taxi-driver lifted his glass his hand trembled,
yet he was a young and healthy-looking man. Greg
wondered momentarily if he had a secret agitation,
and then forgot about it.
They exchanged opinions upon the quality of the
whiskey and the rottenness of the weather outside.
These and other pleasant conventionalities, not to
speak of two high-balls apiece, opened the way for
more personal communications. They decided they
liked each other.
“I'm Hickey Meech,” said the driver. “Christened
Robert at birth, but Hickey because I come from the
country, though that's fifteen years ago, and I'm like to
die before I see it again.”
“I shan't tell you my name,” said Greg. “Meaning
no offense, you understand; but it's been in the papers
lately, and I want it to be forgotten.”
“Sure that's all right,” said Hickey. “What's in a


The Transfer I5
man's label anyhow; ’taint guaranteed by no poor feud
law.” He glanced sideways at Greg's good clothes.
“You’re a bit off your regular beat to-night, ain't you?”
“I’m sailing on the Savoia.”
“The Hell you say! Well some guys has all the
luck!”
Greg laughed shortly. He experienced a sudden de-
sire to talk about himself; to put his case before a dis-
interested party who did not know him, and whom he
would never see again; it would help him to grasp his
own situation, he felt. During the last difficult weeks
he had not talked to any one.
“I don't know as anybody would call me lucky,” he
said. “I’ve lately had a good crack over the head.
Maybe it was good for my character, but it hurt just
the same.”
“Oh, we all get those,” the other replied senten-
tiously.
“My Dad died when I was a kid,” Greg went on.
“He left us well-fixed as things go. The property was
all in the hands of his partner as trustee. Well, since
then I’ve been accustomed to sucking my silver spoon,
as you might say; went to the most expensive schools
and college, and didn’t learn much except how to drive
a racing car. I can drive a car, but that's not going to
lay up any bonds in a safe deposit vault.
“Well, it's an old story, but, believe me, when it
happens to yourself it has all the effect, if not the
charm, of novelty! A month ago our trustee died and
left his affairs in a snarl. Our property has just va-
mosed; he didn't steal it, you understand; it just nat-
urally melted in his hot hands.


I6 The Owl Taxi
“I managed to save enough out of the wreck—it was
my first experience of business and I don't like it—to
keep the girls from actual want, but there wasn't a
penny left for me. Of course I was well known in
certain circles and there were plenty of men who would
have given me a job out of charity; but I wasn't go-
ing to be a poor relation in the crowd where I had once
kept my end up with the best. I was pried loose from
my old foundations and I wanted an entirely fresh
start. So I decided to try my luck in London. No
small town stuff for me. It seemed like a good idea
when it came to me but now—I don't know ??
The driver was all sympathy. “What's the matter?
Leaving somebody behind you?”
“No,” said Greg smiling; “only the old town. I
didn't know it had such a hold on me!”
“Every dog loves its own lamp-posts,” said Hickey.
“It'll do you good to see the world. Wish to God I had
the chance! And you'll make good. Even though
you've lost your coin you’ve got the habit of class. No-
body can't take that from you. And people just nat-
urally give up to a classy guy.”
“I don't quite get you,” said Greg.
“You’ve got style,” said the taxi-driver. “Anybody
could see you were accustomed to traveling with top-
notchers.”
“Nothing in it,” said Greg. “My style as you call
it only gets in my way now that I've nothing to keep
it up on. I'd do better if I could begin life over on
a section gang.”
“Don’t you fool yourself,” retorted the taxi-driver.
“That's the way a swell always talks. "Gee!’ says he,


The Transfer I7
‘if I was on'y a horny handed ton of soil I could make
something of myself!' It reads well in a book. But
take it from me, kid, the ditch-digger is the scratch
man in the race of life; he's got twict as far to run.
Why any ordinary fella born in a soft bed can keep it,
but it takes one o' these here now Napoleons to win
one. Look at me now. I may as well say I ain't no
Napoleon and here I am. I was born to sweat, and
I'm still sweating. Of course I got my vices. I shoot
craps; that helps keep me poor. But it's the habit of
being poor that's so hard to break. If I could only
once get ahead far enough to buy me a real swell out-
fit nothing could stop me.”
“You’re dead wrong,” said Greg. “There's not so
much in appearances as people like to think. Why, the
richest man I know goes around looking like a rag-
picker. And there's many a fancy vest covers an empty
stomach. A workman with a good trade is a king
alongside one of those poor devils that clings to the
edge of what is called Society.”
“Well, I'd like to try a little clinging.”
“There's nothing like honest work.”
“For others. Anybody can have my share. I wisht
I had your chances, that's all.”
“I’d give my chances as you call them quick enough
for a trade.”
Hickey favored Greg with a queer look. “Do you
mean that?”
“Sure I mean it.”
There was a silence of a moment or two while
Hickey dipped his forefinger in a wet spot and drew


I8 The Owl Taxi
designs on the mahogany. At last he asked very off-
hand:
“Would you call driving a taxi a trade?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Well, why don't you try that? You said you could
drive.”
“Well, in London I don't suppose I could compete
with the native article.”
“I mean here.”
“I’m going to London, I told you.”
“But you don't have to go. According to yourself
it's just a notion that you're sorry you took already.”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m just trying you out to see if you meant anything
by your ideas. Are you willing to take a sporting
chance?”
“Try me.”
Once more Hickey hesitated, and then the proposal
came with a rush. “Swap with me. I'll give you my
flivver outside for three hundred and those clothes
you're wearing. She's mine free and clear. Paid the
final installment last week. She's not new, you may say,
but all the better. She's well suppled up. And a bar-
gain at the price. Got an elegant meter on her. Runs
fast for fares and slow for the inspector. I'll let you
try her out of course before you pay the money.”
Greg drew a long breath and stared at the other with
widening eyes. His life had come to the parting of the
ways, and he was free to choose any direction. This
offer presented fascinating possibilities. Like most
young men Greg fancied—it would be hard to say why
—that the life of a cab-driver must be full of romance.


The Transfer I9
“You wouldn't have to leave the old town then,”
Hickey went on craftily. “Believe me, you'd begin to
see it for the first time. Inside and out!”
Greg needed little persuasion. His own imagination
pictured the adventure in more glowing colors than the
taxi-driver had at command. It was something else
made him hesitate.
“Sorry,” he said regretfully. “I haven't but two
hundred in the world.” An idea occurred to him, and
his face cleared. “But I’ve plenty more clothes like
these. They're in trunks and bags on the pier yonder.
The outfit must be worth more than a hundred even at
second-hand clothes prices. I'll give you the claim
checks. I'll throw in the deposit receipt too, if you
want to travel.”
“I’ll take you,” said Hickey with suspicious prompti-
tude; but Greg on his part was too eager to be warned
by it. “I’ll take a flyer among the English swells. If
I make any breaks over there, they'll think it's just be-
cause I'm a Yank.”
“Well, let's take a look at the flivver,” said Greg.
“I suppose she'll run.”
“Run!” cried Hickey. “She can run like Duffy in the
quarter mile! Before we go out let me show you my
papers is all right.” He exhibited cards for his car
license and operator's license.
“You said your name was Meech,” objected Greg.
“These are made out to Elmer Fishback.”
“Oh, a coupla fellas owned the boat since Fishback,”
said Hickey. “The cards always goes with the car.
You'll have to be Fishback when the inspector comes
round. Here's my receipts for the payments.”


20 The Owl Taxi
These were signed by one Bessie Bickle.
“She financed the deal,” explained Hickey. “She
keeps a little yard over on the East side, and I rent
space from her. You might do worse than keep on
with her. Bessie's on the level. It's Gibbon Street
south of Houston. Jumping-off place on the East side.
Better put it down.”
“Gibbon Street; I'll remember it by the Decline and
Fall,” said Greg.
Paying their shot they went out by the front door.
The taxi rested easily by the curb, like an old horse
asleep. She had a slight list to starboard—“From the
bloated rich climbing aboard that side,” explained
Hickey. Her absurd little engine hood was like a nose
without character, and the smoky lamps at either side
like bleary eyes. To complete the likeness to a head,
the top projected over the windshield like the visor of
a cap. Greg was strongly reminded of the human dere-
lict inside the bar and his face fell. Romance receded
into the background.
Hickey watching him close made haste to remove the
bad impression. “Hell! Nobody expects looks in a
flivver. Wait till you feel her move under you! She's
a landaulet, see? The top lets down in fine weather.
Take the wheel ! Take the wheel ! I'll crank her.”
Greg remembered afterward that during this pre-
liminary inspection, Hickey stood squarely in front of
the door of the cab, thus blocking any view of the in-
terior. But it never occurred to him to look inside. He
took the driver's seat, and Hickey cranked her. They
started.
They had not gone a hundred feet before Greg dis-


The Transfer 2I
covered, though Hickey kept up a running fire of praise
to drown the myriad voices of the flivver, that her
piston rings were worn and her transmission loose. She
was indeed well suppled, a little too supple in fact.
There were other rattles, squeaks and knocks that he
could not at the moment locate. Nevertheless she ran;
she ran indeed with the noisy enthusiasm characteristic
of her kind. There is no false delicacy about a flivver.
Greg never hesitated. He was a natural born me-
chanic, and the engine of a flivver held no terrors for
him.
When, having completed the circuit of the long
block, they drew up before the Brevard House again,
Hickey said anxiously: “Well?”
“It's a go,” said Greg curtly.
A little sigh escaped the other. “Where'll we
change?”
“In the car,” said Greg.
“Ain’t room enough,” hastily objected Hickey. “If
we're going to change we can't dress one at a time or
the other would have to stop outside naked.”
“Well, I suppose we could get a room in this hotel.”
“And let Nosey the bar-tender in on our business?
No, sir! I tell you. Let's go down behind the hogs-
heads.”
Below, along the deserted waterfront, were great
piles of heavy freight which had overflowed from the
pier-sheds. Here there were many secluded nooks suit-
able for their purpose. Letting the taxi stand in the
roadway outside, the change of their outer clothing was
soon effected. Greg handed over money, baggage


22 The Owl Taxi
checks and receipt for the deposit money; receiving in
return the license cards and bill of sale.
“Don’t forget you're Elmer Fishback to the inspec-
tors,” said Hickey.
In the light of an electric lamp overhead he strutted
up and down the aisle between the rows of hogsheads,
swinging Greg's stick and “getting the feel of his
clothes” he said. They were several sizes too big for
him by the way, but he seemed not to be aware of that.
“Well, come on,” said Greg. “Hop in, and I'll drive
you up to the Savoia in style.”
His hand instinctively went to the door handle as he
spoke. Hickey hastily pushed it aside. “Oh Hell, I'll
ride on the front seat with you,” he said. “I ain't
proud.”
Greg ran her back to the Brevard Line pier. Many
cabs were arriving now bringing luxurious parties di-
rect from the theaters and restaurants. Greg took his
place in the slow-moving line and in due course reached
the first cabin gangway. Hickey hopped off, and hook-
ing the stick over his arm, squared his meager shoulders
with a swagger.
“Well ta-ta, old chap,” he said in a throaty voice;
“I’ll write you from dear old Lunnon.”
“By-by,” said Greg, biting his lip. He was sorry
he had to miss the comedy that would be played out
on the Savoia's promenade deck during the next five
days.
The cabs pressing behind forced Greg to move on.
Turning on the pier, he hastened away back to the
town. As he went he endeavored to take stock of his
sensations, but without much success; they were rather


The Transfer - 23
confused. Here he was a taxi-driver on his own cab,
looking for a fare, he told himself, but without quite
believing it. The change had been too sudden. He
couldn't quite rid himself of the feeling that he would
wake up presently. He didn't feel like a taxi-driver in-
side. The whole thing seemed a bit unreal. He had
an absurd feeling that the dark-windowed houses were
racing past waving their stoops at him, while he sat
still in the middle of the road.
Little by little he began to believe in what had hap-
pened. For one thing the flivver made a most con-
vincing racket. Yes, there could be no doubt of it!
Here he was starting on the bottom rung of the ladder
just as he had always told himself he wished to do.
Well, time would show how far he could climb. Mean-
while there ought to be fun in it, rich fun! Many a
dollar had Greg spent in his day on the prowling cabs
of night! Here's where he would get some of it back.
He knew the very air, the confidential, everything-goes-
between-good-fellows air with which he must touch his
cap and say: “Cab, sir?”
The old flivver rattled and bumped companionably
across town. Greg was making for the White Light
district, of course, where fares were to be picked up
after midnight. At Madison Square he turned north
on the Avenue. With its disappearing perspective of
twin lights in a double row reflected from the wet pave-
ment it was like a Venetian canal at carnival time, but
the old taxi was a noisy gondola.
Greg had gone no farther than Twenty-sixth Street
when he was hailed from the sidewalk by two men in
evening dress, who had come perhaps from the club


24 The Owl Taxi
down the street. Greg pulled up beside the curb and
leaned out to open the door as he had always seen the
chauffeurs do.
“Where to, sir?”
“The Chronos Club.”
One of the men made to get in and staggered back
with a queer throaty gasp: “Good God, what's this!”
Greg hastily slipped out of his seat. “What's the
matter?”
“A dead body!” the man gasped, and instinctively
looked around for a policeman.
On the floor of the cab before them lay a bulky body
queerly huddled on top of an old valise. When the door
had been opened the feet pushed out uncompromisingly.
The light of a street lamp fell full on the upturned,
yellow, dreadfully quiet face.
Greg's mind after an instant's stand of horror
worked like lightning. He shut the door pushing the
feet in with it.
“Oh, he's only soused,” he said carelessly. “I didn't
know his friend had left him behind. I'll have to take
him to the station house now.”
Springing back into the driver's seat he opened her
up wide. The two men looked after him with an un-
certain air. The taxi leaped ahead. He turned the
next corner on two wheels, and the next and the next
after that. His blood was pounding in his ears. Finally
in the middle of a quiet block he ventured to draw up
and listen. No sound of a raised alarm reached him.


CHAPTER II
GREG's FIRST FARE
REG had come to a stop beside a gas lamp in a
long block of little houses. Not a soul was in
sight, and no window showed a light. Slipping out of
his seat he opened the door to have a better look at his
gruesome freight. Perhaps after all he had been mis-
taken. When the door was opened the feet impatiently
pushed out again. There was something piteously hu-
man in the aspect of these turned-up toes in common-
sense shoes with soft kid uppers comfortable for old
feet. There was no doubt that the man was dead;
the slack, huddled attitude, the awful serenity of his
expression proclaimed it. Greg ventured to touch his
hand; it was death cold.
It was the body of a man of middle age, plump
rather than corpulent. He was well-dressed in a some-
what old-fashioned style, the open overcoat revealing a
cutaway beneath, while a silk hat not new, lay on the
seat of the cab where it had fallen. A gold watch chain
still stretched across his waistcoat, and the little finger
of the hand Greg touched displayed a handsome ring.
So he had not been robbed. This ring bore a curious
red stone cut in octagonal form. The clean-shaven
face had a notably benignant look—this had been a
kind old gentleman in life; he was very dark and had a
25


26 The Owl Taxi
slightly foreign look, a Spanish-American, Greg
guessed. There was nothing to show how he had come
by his death. The bag under his body was an old-fash-
ioned suit-case with a collapsible side.
Meanwhile the question was hammering on Greg's
brain: “What am I to do? What am I to do?” His
obvious duty of course was to take the body to the near-
est police station, but he shivered at the prospect of
what would assuredly follow, the searching questions,
the pitiless publicity. He could not hope to conceal his
identity, for as yet the cabman Elmer Fishback had no
background. And then to have his family and friends
read next morning how Gregory Parr had become the
driver on an owl taxi and was implicated in a murder-
well, anything rather than that!
Why not dump the body out where he was, and let
things take their course? The crime was none of his.
But suppose, just as he started to drag it out of the cab,
some one turned into the street, or came out of one of
the houses? Or suppose, as was not unlikely, that the
crime was already known, and the police even now were
in search of a cab bearing his number? In that case to
cast the body adrift would be to incriminate himself.
For a moment or two Greg was inclined to abandon the
whole outfit where it stood, but it now represented all
he possessed in the world, and his native obstinacy
would not permit of a surrender so abject. After all,
he had done nothing wrong; he determined to see the
thing through.
A hot tide of anger surged up in him against the man
who had fooled him. What made it more bitter was
the fact that he had liked the garrulous little cabman


Greg's First Fare 27
and had taken his word, only to be betrayed. How
easily he had been deceived—fool that he was ! But if
he could get hold of him ! Well, even now it was
only half-past twelve, and if the man really intended to
sail on the Savoia there was time ! At this point
in his reflections Greg shut the door again, and sliding
back into the driver's seat turned his car and hastened
back across town.
His state of mind was very different from that in
which he had so blithely set forth, for now he carried
a burden of horror behind. The picture of that poor
form of human clay seemed etched on his brain, and he
could not forget it for an instant. He was frankly
terrified too; the hardest thing in the world to get rid
of is a dead body that you cannot account for. He con-
ceived the idea of driving out in the country and aban-
doning it in a lonely road. In that case he would have
to have gasoline. Suppose while his tank was filling,
some one glanced inside. Perhaps he ought to stop and
set the body up on the seat and put its hat on its head
—but what was the use? At the first jolt it would fall
over again. When Greg passed a policeman he in-
stinctively slumped down in his seat, and his heart stood
still for a moment as he awaited the expected peremp-
tory hail. But he was allowed to pass.
Back outside the Brevard Line pier, Greg stopped,
at a loss what to do with his cab. He could not bring
himself to drive out on the busy, lighted pier again;
that they had escaped discovery the first time seemed
miraculous now. He finally decided to leave it outside
in a spot a little apart from the procession passing in
and out. If anybody happened to look in while he was


28 The Owl Taxi
gone, well, so be it! The matter would be decided for
him.
It is scarcely necessary to state that Mr. Gregory
Parr, alias Hickey Meech, was not aboard the Savoia.
As Greg looked for him voices were already warning
all but intending passengers ashore. “Mr. Parr,” Greg
was informed, had not paid the balance of his passage
money, and his reservation was therefore canceled. He
was not in the stateroom that had been allotted him.
His baggage still lay unclaimed on the pier.
“Safely hidden by now!” Greg said to himself bit-
terly, “leaving me to dispose of the issue of his crime !
He knows of course that I dare not report the matter
to the police! What a downy bird I have been!”
With a long earth-shaking rumble of her whistle the
Savoia began to back out of her slip, while Greg made
his way heavily back towards the spot where he had
left his cab. He took a survey of it from a little dis-
tance, prepared for instant flight if necessary, but there
was no one near it. He approached it gingerly, cranked
his engine, and drove away, his problem still unsolved.
Once more the lights of the Brevard House across
the plaza attracted him. The front door of the bar
was now closed, but business was still being done by
means of the side door. Greg went in with a foolish
hope that he might find Hickey propped in his old place
against the mahogany. It was doomed to disappoint-
ment, of course. The pink-cheeked bar-tender was still
on duty. There was no use asking him if he knew
where Hickey was, because Greg had seen on his first
visit that they were not acquainted. The bar-tender


Greg's First Fare 29
looked hard at Greg, and the latter had not even the
nerve to order a drink, but walked out again.
As he came out he got a sickening turn. A man was
standing close beside his cab, looking around. Had he
looked inside? The windows were closed, and one
could not see very well without opening the door.
Greg's first impulse was to run for it, but once again
his obstinacy forced him to stand fast, forced him to
march up to the man. He was a tall, handsome, dis-
tinguished-looking individual of middle-life, with
hawklike patrician features. He had a slightly foreign
air. His dress was perfection without being in any way
conspicuous. He did not look as if he had just become
aware of something horrible; on the contrary as Greg
came closer he saw that the man was slightly intoxi-
cated. “He does not know!” Greg thought with a
great lift of the heart.
“This your cab?” the man said in a thick voice.
“Want to engage you.” His voice retained only a trace
of a foreign accent.
“I’ve got a fare,” Greg said.
“Where?” asked the other trying to peer through
the glass.
“He’s drunk,” said Greg quickly. “He’s lying
down.”
The tall man sniggered in a foolish way. “Well, he
won't mind waiting a bit then. Take me while he's
having his sleep out. I'll ride in front with you.”
Greg reflected that he needed the money, and more-
over that the man riding beside him would afford him
a certain protection. Not much danger that he in his
befuddled state would discover anything.


30 The Owl Taxi
“All right,” he said. “Where to?”
“Jersey City,” said the tall man pointing across the
plaza to the Erie ferry.
They seated themselves side by side and started.
“Where did you pick up the drunken man?” asked
Greg's fare.
“Had him all evening,” replied Greg. “His friends
beat it and left him on my hands. I have to wait until
he sleeps it off before I can collect my fare.”
“You’ll have to wait a long time,” said the tall man
with his foolish snigger.
It gave Greg a nasty turn. Was it possible he had
seen or was this just the maundering of a drunken
man? Perhaps he was not so drunk as he seemed. Greg
thought “detective!” and his heart went slowly down
into his boots. But surely this man with his inimitable
air of breeding and his proud glance could not be a
plain-clothes man. And anyway why should a detec-
tive want to take him to Jersey City? And if he were
not a detective, what interest could he have in merely
tormenting Greg. After a moment of sheer panic,
Greg's spirits rose a little.
In his turn he began to wonder what errand a man of
this kind could have across the river at such a time of
night. That quarter is not usually thought of as the
abode of aristocrats.
“Where to in Jersey City?” asked Greg.
“I’ll tell you when we get there.”
“I just asked because I don't know the town.”
“Neither do I.”
By this time they were at the ferry house. There
was no boat in the slip and they had to wait outside for


Greg's First Fare 3I
some minutes. When the gates were finally opened
they were almost the first in line, but Greg's fare would
not let him enter until all the express wagons, milk
wagons, mail wagons and other late vehicles had gone
111.
“Wait till the last! Wait till the last !” he said.
“It’s safer.”
Greg laughed. “What do you mean, safer?” he
asked.
“I wouldn't want to be caught in the middle of the
boat if anything happened,” the tall man said with the
obstinacy of one in his condition. “Drive on last, and
stay out on the back deck in the open. It's safer.”
“There's nothing in that,” said Greg. -
“Well, you do what I tell you anyhow. I'm willing
to pay for what I want. Here's five dollars on ac-
count.”
Greg shrugged and took the money. He was sure
then that he had the vagaries of a drunken man to
deal with.
As his fare desired he let his taxi stand out on the
after deck of the ferry-boat. As soon as she left her
slip this part of the deck was deserted, for everybody
else instinctively pressed up forward to be ready to
land. Greg's fare lit a cigar of wonderful fragrance.
“This is nice,” he said, taking his ease. “I don't like
to be crowded on a boat.”
But presently he underwent a feather-headed change
of mood. “Let's stroll up to the bow so we can see
where we're going,” he said.
“But I thought you wanted to stay here,” said Greg
astonished.


32 The Owl Taxi
“As long as the cab's here it's all right,” he said
with perfect inconsistency. “I didn't want to be penned
up.”
There was no making any sense out of this. Useless
to argue with a man in his condition. “You go ahead,”
said Greg good-naturedly. “I’ll stay with the cab.”
“No, you come too,” the other said with childish in-
sistence. “I’ve got to have somebody to talk to.
Mustn't be left alone.”
Greg shrugged, and gave in.
The Twenty-third Street ferry to Jersey City is one
of the longer routes, and the passage consumes up-
wards of twenty minutes. There were not many pas-
sengers at this hour—in the center of the deck a group
of half a dozen drivers comparing notes, and at either
side as many late commuters and Jersey citizens home-
ward bound. The overhanging bow of the ferry-boat
trod the dark water remorselessly underfoot. On
either hand it heaved in a silent tumult, like an agon-
ized black breast. Along the shores the lights, yellow,
red and green, sparkled with an incredible brightness,
and over the center of Manhattan hung a dim radiance
like the reflection of the embers of a burnt-out confla-
gration.
At Greg's elbow the tall man chattered on in the in-
consequential way that accorded so ill with his aris-
tocratic mask and falcon-like glance. “I hope the old
boy's resting easily in the cab back there. He must be
cramped lying on the floor.” (So he had seen inside 1)
“Well, there's no accounting for taste in beds. You
can’t blame a man for taking a drop too much in


Greg's First Fare 33
weather like this. The dampness gnaws your bones.
In my country the sun never forsakes us like this.”
“What country is that?” asked Greg idly.
“Er—Peru,” came the answer after a second's hesi-
tation. He went on with his snigger: “I guess maybe
I’ve had a drop or two too many myself. Two too
manyl English is a funny language! I had my first
cocktail at five this afternoon—no, yesterday after-
noon, and after dinner I seemed to lose count. Oh
well, what's the difference! We only live once. I'll
buy you a drink, cabby, when we land on the other
side.”
In the middle of all this he pulled himself up short
and a great breath escaped him—was it of relief? For
a moment his foolishness seemed to fall away. “Well,
that's all right,” he murmured.
“What did you say?” asked Greg curiously.
“Nothing.” He resumed his chatter. Greg scarcely
remarked the interruption, but he remembered it later;
remembered too, that the man had been listening.
They returned to the cab. As they rolled out of the
ferry house on the Jersey City side Greg said:
“Where to ?”
His fare seemed to have become a little drunker.
“Fellow told me you could get a drink in Jersey City
any time you wanted. Said there was a place called
Stack's over here. Something doing there all night.
Stacks of liquor, stacks of fun—that's how I remem-
bered the name. I forget the address. But it must be
on the main street. Drive up a way and look for the
sign.”
Greg, reflecting that taxi-drivers had more to put up


34 The Owl Taxi
with than he had supposed, obediently drove quite a
long way up the principal thoroughfare leading from
the ferry. No “Stack's" appeared among the street
signs. Greg's fare hummed snatches of a little Spanish
song to himself, and did not appear to pay the slightest
attention to the signs.
“Well, what do you want me to do?” asked Greg at
last. “We seem to be coming to the outskirts now.”
“Oh, ask a policeman,” said the tall man foolishly.
Greg couldn't get rid of the feeling that he was be-
ing made game of. “What do you think I am!” he
said. “If he did know such a place he couldn't give
himself away by letting on. Very likely he'd want to
run us in for asking.”
“Oh well, let's go back to New York then. We've
had a pleasant drive.”
For a moment Greg forgot his rôle of the submissive
cabman. “What the Hell !” he began thoroughly
exasperated.
“What do you care so long as you get your pay?”
said the tall man unconcernedly.
Greg reflected that it did indeed make no difference,
so he shrugged his shoulders once more, and turning,
drove back to the ferry at a smart pace. He privately
determined to charge this capricious fare double rates.
On the return trip the tall man evinced not the slight-
est concern as to where the taxi was put on the ferry.
He had got over his talkativeness. He sat deep in
thought, smoking one cigar after another. When they
landed on the New York side he curtly ordered Greg
to drive him to the Hotel Tours at One Hundred and
Second Street and Broadway.


Greg's First Fare 35
During the long drive to Eighth Avenue, to Colum-
bus Circle, and up Broadway he scarcely spoke. He
had apparently recovered from his drunkenness. The
night air had cured him perhaps. As a natural result
his spirits had sunk. Greg stealing curious side glances
into his face as it was revealed in the light of the street
lamps saw that his head was sunk on his chest, and that
something grim and haggard and perhaps a little wist-
ful had appeared in the handsome features. It sug-
gested the face of a desperate gamester dreaming of
the simple life.
Somewhere about Eightieth Street Greg's engine
began to sputter. His fare was evidently an experi-
enced automobilist.
“Gas running low?” he asked.
Greg nodded, and looked out for a garage. The
first they came to was an open-air place in a vacant lot.
A light was still burning in the little office, and Greg
turned in. With a hail he brought a man out to the
tank. He and his fare had to get out while the flivver
was filled up. Afterwards the fare with true aristo-
cratic carelessness handed Greg another bill and re-
sumed his seat. Greg went back to the office with the
man to get change. This was fifty feet or so behind
the cab. It was dark in the vicinity.
As Greg stepped out of the office he felt a light
touch on his arm. He beheld an eager young face look-
ing up into his, a face whose speaking beauty went to
his heart like an arrow. The glance of the brilliant eyes
at once implored his assistance and enjoined secrecy
upon him. Greg was won before a word was spoken.
As for the rest he saw a slender, jaunty figure in boy's


36 The Owl Taxi
clothes with cap pulled low over the head. Amaze-
ment grew in him, for he knew instantly that it was no
boy. A boy's eyes could not have moved him so. He
gazed at her breathlessly as at a lovely apparition. He
did not realize that she was speaking to him. She had
to repeat her question.
“That's your cab there?”
He nodded.
“Where are you taking that man?”
“Hotel Tours.”
“All right. I'm following in another cab. When
you drop him go on for half a block and wait for me,
will you? I want to talk to you.”
Greg nodded eagerly. Just here his fare looked
around the cab to see what was keeping him, and the
pseudo-youth melted like a shadow into the darkness.
Greg resumed his place at the wheel in a kind of dream.


CHAPTER III
GREG's SECOND FARE
E made the rest of the run to the Hotel Tours in
a high state of anticipation. That charming
vivid face traveled between him and the asphalt on
which his chauffeur's gaze was fixed. His delight in
the prospect of the coming meeting was not unmixed
with dread—for her. He shuddered to think of the
risks she ran wandering about town alone in the small
hours of night. Surely any one could see through her
disguise at a second glance. Her character was writ-
ten in her eyes—ignorant, innocent and daring. Clearly
she had little idea of the dangers she was braving.
His fare paid him liberally without demur and dis-
appeared within the hotel without giving Greg a sec-
ond glance. Greg went on for half a block and drew
up beside the curb. Presently another cab came to a
stop behind him, and the seeming youth got out and
paid the driver. He (she) made a feint of entering
the nearest doorway, and when the second cab had gone
on, returned, and slid into the seat beside Greg as a
matter of course. She had much the air of a confident
child who expects to find the whole world friendly.
“We'd better go back where we can watch that
hotel,” she said. “I don’t think he intends to remain
there long.”
37


38 The Owl Taxi
Greg was utterly charmed by that “we.” She took
it for granted that he was willing to help her. Well,
she should not be disappointed. Little did he care what
it was all about; he was on her side anyhow. He burned
to assure her of this, but prudence suggested it might
be better to let things be taken for granted. He was
glad it was to him she had applied; he trembled to
think of how she might have been deceived in another
taxi-driver. It did not occur to him that she might,
like children generally (she was scarcely more than a
child) have an intuitive perception of character.
He turned his cab around and they watched the en-
trance to the Tours from across the street.
She plunged into the middle of her business without
any preamble. “You crossed on the Twenty-third
Street ferry. I couldn't find a cab just at that moment,
so I had to follow on foot. So I lost you when you
drove away on the other side. Where did you take
him over there?”
“Nowhere,” said Greg. “It appeared he was just
looking for a drink and when we couldn't find a place
we came back to New York.”
“Is that all?” she said, disappointed and puzzled.
“What reason did he give for getting out of the cab on
the way over?”
“No reason. He seemed to be a little drunk.”
“Drunk? I can’t understand it. He's not a drink-
ing man.”
“Who is he?” asked Greg with natural curiosity.
She gave him a look of appeal. “Don’t ask me. I
can't tell you the truth.”


Greg's Second Fare 39
Her speech had an alluring quality of strangeness.
It was not that she spoke with an accent exactly; it was
more like the speech of an American who might have
lived long among foreigners. Greg could not read her
race from her features; she had great brown eyes with
a fleck of red in them when they caught the light; her
skin was creamy. He could not tell the color of her
hair because of the cap that she had pulled completely
over her head in the style that youths affect, but he
guessed it was dark red to match her eyebrows. She
had a soft and babyish mouth that did not seem to go
with the fiery eyes. Greg guessed that the eyes ex-
pressed her character, while the mouth had just been
thrown in to make her adorable. Her voice was too
deep for her size, but that was no doubt assumed.
Sometimes when she forgot it scaled up. She was dis-
playing a boyish nonchalance that was altogether de-
lightful and funny. To tease her Greg offered her a
cigarette. She declined it.
“I smoke a pipe,” was her astonishing reason.
She did not, however, offer to produce it.
As she had forecast, the tall foreigner did indeed
presently issue from the Tours, and hailed one of the
cabs waiting below the entrance. Greg cranked his en-
gine. The other cab turned around at the corner and
passed down beside them. Greg took care to be hidden
behind his cab as the other passed. Climbing in he fol-
lowed it as a matter öf course.
“What time do you suppose it is?” asked his com-
panion.
“About three.”
“What a night!” she murmured.


40 The Owl Taxi
“You’re dead right !” said Greg grimly. He remem-
bered what he carried behind and shivered.
They sped down town over the smooth pavement of
Broadway. That erstwhile busy street was deserted
now except for an occasional motor car like themselves
roaring up or down with wide open throttle and except
for the ubiquitous cats prowling diagonally across from
curb to curb on errands known to themselves. The
street lamps shone down like moons as indifferently
upon solitude as upon crowds; all the shop fronts were
dark.
Greg, it need hardly be said, was fairly eaten up with
curiosity concerning his passenger, yet he could not
question her. Her air of friendliness and confidence
disarmed him. Questions implied a doubt. She vol-
unteered no information about herself, but seemed to
feel the necessity of saying something.
“Perhaps I ought to be riding in behind.”
“Oh, no!” said Greg very quickly.
“Well, I thought it might look odd, my sitting here
in front.”
“Why shouldn't a taxi-driver be giving a friend a
lift, especially at this time of night?”
This seemed to make her uneasy. She said: “All
right; but you know I'm hiring you really, just like any-
body.”
Greg felt a most unreasonable hurt. “I didn't ask
for any pay,” he said gruffly.
She was distressed. “Oh, you mustn't let your feel-
ings be hurt! I've got to pay you, you know. You
don’t know anything about me.”
Greg answered with a look that meant: “I'd like


Greg's Second Fare 4I
to !” But she did not take the hint. Aloud he said:
“I won't take anything.”
She let the matter drop.
The cab they were following drew up at the great
Hotel Meriden at Eightieth Street.
“I thought so,” murmured the girl. “He is stopping
here. The chase is over for to-night. Drive on for a
block or two, then come back. It will give him a chance
to get to his room.”
Greg obeyed. As they returned and circled in front
of the hotel she said:
“Don’t stop at the entrance. Go on to the end of
the building and wait there.”
They came to a stop opposite the last of the great
windows that lighted the lobby and the lounge of the
Meriden. Greg wondered, if the chase were over,
what they were to wait for. The answer came di-
rectly, conveying an important bit of information
obliquely.
She said, pointing to two lighted windows on the
third floor of the hotel: “I daren't go in until he goes
to bed. Do you mind if I wait here with you?”
“Do I mind !” said Greg.
His tone was perhaps a little too warm. She glanced
at him suspiciously. Greg tried to look unconscious.
Meanwhile he was revolving the significance of what
she had just said. So she lived here too, and was, she
implied, a member of the tall foreigner's household. It
occurred to Greg that her speech resembled the man's:
they used the same phrases as people do who live to-
gether. Certainly in no other respect was there any


42 The Owl Taxi
likeness. Greg frowned. He resented the thought
that man and girl might be related.
She broke in on his thoughts by saying in her abrupt,
boyish way: “You don't seem like a common taxi-
driver.”
“Well, I haven't been one long,” said Greg smiling.
He reflected that the surest way to win a person's
confidence is to offer one's own, and he proceeded to
tell her the story of his meeting with Hickey Meech,
and how they had changed places, stopping short, how-
ever, of the grim dénouement.
The girl was charmed. “Oh, I like that!” she cried
bright-eyed. “I'm glad you didn't want to leave Amer-
ica ! I love America. I'm an American.”
He wondered a little what impelled her to state this
fact so defiantly, as if it had been called in question. It
cheered him though, for certainly the man they had
been following was not an American. So they could
not be close relatives.
“I’m so glad it was you!” she went on.
“So am II” he said smiling.
“A person like you can understand.”
“But I understand nothing.”
“Ah, don't ask me!” she said with a painful air. “I
can't explain. It's a family affair!”
That put Greg back where he had started from. He
was silenced but not satisfied.
“Suppose I need you again?” she asked. “Would
you be willing ?”
“Try me!”
“How can I get you?”
“Well, I haven't any address yet. The man I bought


Greg's Second Fare 43
the cab from told me where he kept it, and I suppose
I'll hang out there. Have you anything to write it
down with?’”
She nodded, and produced a tiny note-book and pen-
cil.
“Elmer Fishback,” he began.
She wrote it down, smiling to herself at the comical
sound of the syllables.
“My right name is Gregory Parr,” he hastily added.
“That's better,” she said.
He continued: “Care of Bessie Bickle—he didn't say
whether she was Miss or Mrs.”
“I’ll just put B. Bickle.”
“Gibbon Street south of Houston.”
She wrote it all down.
All this while Greg was wondering how she expected
to get across the lighted lobby and by the hotel desk
without discovery. The question tormented him. Fi-
nally he could contain it no longer.
“You can't go in—like that,” he blurted out.
She instantly mounted on her high horse. “What do
you mean?”
“Well, you know—anybody could see ” he stam-
mered, “anybody could see that you were—well, that
you were not a boy.”
She sharply averted her head from him. He saw
the crimson tide creep up from her neck.
“I don't see what reason you have for saying that,”
she murmured.
He strove stumblingly to put her at her ease. “Oh,
it isn't your clothes. They're all right. You look out
o' sight! But—but—well, a girl is different. It's not


44 The Owl Taxi
altogether a matter of looks. I mean the charm of a
girl sticks out all over you.”
She ignored this. “I’m not going through the lobby,”
she said abruptly, “but through the service entrance. I
bribed the watchman on the way out, and he will let me
in again.”
Greg breathed more freely. A constrained silence
fell between them.
“I'm not altogether a fool!” she presently burst out
sorely. “I didn't venture out until long after dark.
And I kept away from all brilliantly lighted places.
Nobody found me out but you.”
“That's all right,” said Greg. “But suppose—well,
suppose I hadn't been, well—decent.”
“I would have known exactly what to do!” she said
with an intimidating air that made him smile broadly.
“But I knew you were the instant I looked at you,” she
added.
“Thanks,” said Greg.
She was still sore. “I don't see how you could have
guessed !” she went on. “At home when we have the-
atricals everybody says I make a perfectly dandy boy!”
“That's different,” said Greg smiling.
“What must you think of me!” she murmured in an
humbler tone.
“Nothing but what is good,” he said quickly. “I
would be a fool if I thought otherwise. I was only
anxious for you because I supposed you did not know
the risks you ran.”
“I knew,” she said. “I armed myself.”
Greg was both amused and thrilled at the diminu-
tize size of her and her unquestioned courage.


Greg's Second Fare 45
“It seemed necessary for me to do it,” she explained
further, “though after all I have accomplished noth-
ing. I did it for some one—some one I cared for very
much.”
A sharp little pang of jealousy shot through Greg's
breast.
Another cab drew up at the entrance to the Meriden
in their rear. Greg's companion stuck her head out to
see who it was. She quickly drew it in again.
“Two of the gang!” she said excitedly.
“What gang?” asked Greg involuntarily.
“His gang, the politicians. They've come after him,
I suppose. We'll know in a minute.”
Leaning forward in front of his companion Greg
saw two men entering the Meriden, one of whom car-
ried a heavy suit-case. They were inconspicuous-look-
ing men, soberly dressed, both under the average
height, one stocky, one thin. They had a foreign look
like the man they came to see. As they passed back
into the hotel they came within range of the big window
beside Greg's cab, and the two could sit back and watch
them at their leisure. They proceeded to the desk and
made an inquiry. The clerk took down his telephone
receiver. After a brief colloquy over the 'phone, he
nodded to the two men, who thereupon seated them-
selves near by.
“He's coming down-stairs to them,'
girl.
Sure enough, Greg's former fare, the tall foreigner,
presently stepped out of the elevator. He had his hat
and overcoat on and carried a valise.
murmured the


46 The Owl Taxi
“Going out again!” said the girl excitedly. “Going
away, it seems!”
When the men met no greetings were exchanged; it
was as if they had but lately parted. The three moved
away from the vicinity of the hotel desk engaged in
low-voiced conversation. They came to a stand not far
from the window through which Greg and the girl were
watching them. Here they stood talking with guarded
expressions, never thinking of looking out into the dark
Street.
He who carried the suit-case exhibited it to the tall
man, who thereupon called the single sleepy boy on
duty at this hour and gave instructions. The boy took
the suit-case and the tall man's own valise and, pro-
ceeding to the entrance, summoned a cab; the bags were
put inside. Meanwhile the three lingered a moment to
finish their talk. The heavier of the two newcomers
took from his breast pocket a rather bulky little black
book and handed it over to the tall man. The latter's
eyes visibly gleamed with satisfaction as he hastily ran
over the contents. He pocketed the book.
At sight of the book a startled exclamation escaped
from the girl beside Greg. “Why—why, that's my
uncle's book! How did they get it?”
Greg marked well the look of the book. It seemed
to be a “loose-leaf” note-book with a number of mis-
cellaneous papers of different sizes and colors, caught
in on a patent fastener. It was somewhat long and
narrow, of a size that would just fit a man's breast
pocket, and it was bound in black seal leather.
After the transfer of the book the three men started
to move towards the hotel entrance.


Greg's Second Fare 47
“Shall we follow?” asked Greg.
“Of course!” she said.
Slipping out of his seat, he cranked his engine in
order to be ready for them. The three men got in the
waiting taxi, and it came on past them bound down-
town. Greg fell in behind them, but not close enough
to excite suspicion. Down that broad empty street one
could see for half a mile.
The girl did not speak again during this part of the
journey. She was staring ahead of her under knitted
brows; the softness was all ironed out of the babyish
mouth and her little hands were clenched. Greg won-
dered mightily what grim thoughts could be filling a
creature so sweet and delicate. He felt that he could
aid her twice as efficiently if he knew what it was all
about but he would not risk a rebuff by asking again.
At Seventy-second Street the cab in front stopped be-
side the subway station, and Greg slowed down while
they watched to see what the men would do. The two
short men alighted and disappeared down the stairs.
The cab went on.
“We follow the tall man?” asked Greg.
“Certainly, The others don't matter.”
Straight down the long empty course of Broadway
they were led at top speed; through the mile of auto-
mobile warerooms, now dark, and the half mile of the-
aters and restaurants where a few lights still main-
tained a dingy semblance of festivity, including the
strange blue glare of the little photograph stores, which
for some mysterious reason keep open all night. In
this quarter a few revelers were still to be seen, bound
more or less homeward, their loud and repetitious as-


48 The Owl Taxi
surances of regard only broken by violent quarrels;
while owl taxis like Greg's own surreptitiously fol-
lowed them on the chance of picking up business. Still
they kept on down Broadway through the nondescript
stretch between Herald and Madison Squares, the Ten-
derloin of a bygone day.
“He must be bound for Brooklyn,” said Greg.
But at Twentieth Street the car in front turned to
the east. Greg followed at a discreet distance. In
that dark and silent quarter greater care was necessary
if they wished to keep the man in front from guessing
that he was followed. At Gramercy Park his car
turned south again into Irving Place, and they lost it
for a moment.
When they cautiously turned the Irving Place corner
they saw that the other cab had come to a stop half-way
down that short street. Even as they looked the tall
man's bags were carried into a building on that side.
His cab went on.
They drove slowly past the place where he had dis-
appeared. It was a modest little hotel with a Spanish
name: Hotel dos Estados Unidos. Through the win-
dows of the lobby they saw the tall man standing by the
desk, apparently being assigned to a room.
“What does he come here for?” murmured the girl
more and more perplexed.
Greg went on for a block, and turning, came slowly
back on the other side. The hotel lobby was now
empty, except for the dozing clerk behind the desk.
Greg brought the cab to a stop just beyond the hotel
where they could still command an oblique view of the
lobby.


Greg's Second Fare 49
“What now?” he said.
“I don't know what to say,” she murmured. “I can't
imagine why he should come here to sleep. I can't be-
lieve that he does mean to sleep here. I believe he'll
be out again. Let's wait and see.”
They continued to discuss the situation, a discussion
with little profit as far as Greg was concerned, for he
lacked a clue. The burden of her cry was:
“If only I knew what he was up to !”
By and by another cab drew up to the little hotel
and a man and woman got out; innocent belated trav-
elers these, who have nothing to do with the story; but
the sight of them gave Greg an idea.
“I might slip into the lobby while this man's regis-
tering,” he said, “and glance over his shoulder. I
could find out then what name the other registered
under. I could make out to be after a drink of water
or something. That is, 1f you wish me to.”
“Yes, do so!” she said eagerly. “It might give us
a clue.”
Returning to her two minutes later Greg said: “He
wrote himself down as Antonio Bareda of Santiago de
Managuay.”
The effect on the girl was startling. She fell back
in her seat. “What! My uncle's name! Has he
stolen that too? Oh, something terrible is going onl”
Greg stood with a foot on the running-board at a loss
what to say. He finally murmured diffidently: “If you
could tell me what you suspect 5%
“I can't! I can't!” she cried. “I don't understand
it myself. It is too horrible!”
Presently more composed, she said: “One thing is


50 The Owl Taxi
sure, I daren't leave here now. I must find out what
he's up to if I have to wait till morning. But you must
be tired out. Why don't you get in the back of the cab
and sleep until daylight, then I'll call you, and you can
relieve me. If necessary I can run the car. We have
one at home to save the big car.”
Greg reminded afresh of his original grisly pas-
senger felt a cold chill down his spine. That problem
remained to be solved. He hung irresolute.
“Go on, get in,” she urged, putting her hand around
like a chauffeur to open the door.
Greg hastily gripped it. “Don’t open it!” he cried.
She looked at him in astonishment.
“The fact is there's something I didn't tell you,” he
lamely explained. “I’ve got a sou—I mean a drunken
man in there.”
“What! You mean we’ve been carrying him around
all night!”
“I guess he didn't mind.” -
“Oh, bother!” she said. “We'll have to dump him
out here. There's no help for it. This is important.
It may be a matter of life and death !”
In speaking, she instinctively turned her head and
looked through the glass behind her.
“Don’t look!” cried Greg cold with horror.
But she only pressed her face closer to the glass.
“There isn't anybody there,” she said.
Greg astonished threw open the door. It was true.
The cab was empty. He gasped; his jaw dropped; he
stared at the empty place like an idiot.
“What's the matter with you?” said the girl laugh-


Greg's Second Fare 5I
ing. “I suppose he just woke up and walked off when
you weren’t looking.”
“He was past walking,” said Greg.
His grim air impressed her. “What do you mean?”
“He was dead.”
“Dead!” she cried. “Are you mad?”
Greg shook his head. “Dead as mutton!”
Her lip trembled like a child's. “Good heavens,
what a city this is !”
“So it seems l’” said Greg grimly.
“What had happened to him?”
Greg told her what part of the story he had omitted
before. -
“Then that was why the man was so anxious to sell
you the cab?”
“That was why.”
“What has become of it?”
“God knows!”
They looked at each other in dumb amazement. Sud-
denly the girl's expression changed.
“Did my—did that man who was riding with you
know?” she asked sharply.
“No. I told him the same as I told you; that my
other fare was drunk.”
“I wondered why he rode outside with you. It is
not like him to do such things. You are sure he had
no hand in it?” she persisted.
This was a new thought to Greg. “Why, no,” he
said. “How could he? He just happened to pick me
up later. But I don't know. Why not? There was
something queer about all his actions.”
“What was he like, the dead man?”


52 The Owl Taxi
“A nice old gentleman; plump, smooth-shaven,
kindly-looking; looked like a Spanish-American. By
Gad! they were all Spanish, weren't they?”
The girl's face gradually sharpened with anxiety
11OW.
Greg went on: “There was a valise under the body;
that's gone too.”
“Like that you saw in the hotel up-town?” she asked
breathlessly.
“The very same! I never thought of it!”
A low cry escaped the girl.
“He had an odd-looking ring on; octagonal red stone
with characters cut in it.”
“My uncle!” she cried despairingly. “I suspected
it! They have done for him! I was too late!” She
covered her face with her hands.
Greg gazed at her in silent sympathy.
The hands came down; the soft face hardened. “No
time for mourning now. Since I couldn't save him, I
mean to avenge him l”
“If I could tell you how sorry I am!” murmured
Greg.
“Don’t sympathize with me,” she said quickly. “It
brings the tears back. I must be hard. Help me to
be hard.”
“I am at your service in all ways,” he said simply.
“You see what happened now?” she said.
“I am beginning to.”
“I don't know yet how they killed him, but it's clear
enough how they disposed of the body. That man
learned in some way that it was in your cab. That is


Greg's Second Fare 53
why he hired you to take him across the river. The
other two men were on board the ferry too. But I
paid no attention to them because I was watching him,
the man in your cab. When you and he left the cab I
followed you up forward. Then the other two went
to the cab, of course; searched the body, and then cast
it over the rail. You see now why he made you drive
on last.”
“Of course!”
“Planned with devilish cleverness!” she cried.
“That is like him! Why weren't my eyes opened to his
true character earlier! But I'll make him pay! If the
body is missing, will it be possible to bring the crime
home to the murderer?”
“Difficult,” said Greg. “It may be found floating
in the river.”
“How could one find out if it was found?”
“It would be taken to the morgue.”
“Watch for it for me, will you?” she cried eagerly.
“I couldn't go to such a place. You watch for it, and
if it is brought there secure it for me!”
Greg promised. “What do you suppose is his object
now in masquerading as the man he killed?” he asked.
“That I can't guess. I know what happened; I don't
know what underlies it all. We’ve got to find out.”
Once more that “we” inspired Greg to high deeds.
In speaking of the man they had followed it was
natural to turn to the spot where they had last seen
him. As he did so Greg saw his very figure reappear
once more in the lobby of the little hotel. He called
the girl's attention to it.


54 The Owl Taxi
“Quick! Crank your engine!” she said excitedly.
“I thought he would be coming out again!”
The tall man spoke to the clerk, and the latter took
down the telephone receiver.
“Calling for a taxi,” suggested Greg.
Meanwhile he got his engine started, and climbed
into the seat beside her.
“Better move down the street a little way,” she sug-
gested. “He might catch sight of us here.”
Greg obeyed. They waited in the next block. In
due course a taxi-cab drew up before the little hotel,
and the tall man got in, without baggage. The cab
turned west in the side street. Greg followed at a
furlong's distance.
This time the chase was not very long. They were
led around the lower side of Union Square and down
University Place. The first cab turned west in
Ninth Street, and crossing Fifth Avenue drew up be-
fore a residence on the south side of the dignified, old-
fashioned block beyond. Greg kept on to Sixth Ave-
nue.
“Did you get the number?” she asked.
“Five-thirty.”
“I thought so. That's the headquarters of the poli-
ticians. I have seen him address letters there.”
Meanwhile the other cab having dropped its pas-
senger had returned eastward.
“Go back to that house!” ordered the girl. Her
eyes were shining like embers. A great excitement pos-
sessed her.
They drew up before the door of five-thirty.
“Are you a brave man?” she asked abruptly.


i:
In the House on Ninth Street 57 -
(though, by the way, this man was fully dressed), but
there was more in it than that. Greg thought he had
never seen so evil a face, and his hand instinctively
closed tighter around the revolver in his pocket.
In a firm voice he named the man that he wished to
see, and the negro after a hard stare directed him with
a nod to the main door beyond. He closed the wicket.
Greg waited with a fast beating heart.
After no great space of time the door was opened
and de Socotra himself stood before Greg with an ex-
pression of strong curiosity. It was borne in on Greg
afresh that he was an uncommonly handsome man;
moreover, villain though he might be, there was a
superb boldness in his air that commanded an unwill-
ing admiration. Recognizing the chauffeur that had
driven him earlier in the night, he fell back warily.
Greg gave him no time to think. Stepping close to
him, he drew the revolver and pressed the muzzle to
his ribs.
“If you cry out I’ll pull the trigger,” he whispered
harshly.
The man's ruddy brown face paled yellow, yet he
kept a certain measure of self-possession, his eyes did
not quail. “What do you want?” he asked in a firm,
low voice.
“The little black book.”
The man's eyes narrowed. “I don't know what you
mean,” he said quickly. -
Greg saw a tell-tale bulge over his right breast.
“You lie!” he said. “It's in your pocket. Quick with
it, or I'll shoot!”
A curious glint showed in the other's jetty eyes which


58 The Owl Taxi
never left Greg's. His hand went slowly inside his
coat and reappeared with the little black book. Greg
with a leaping heart took it in his free hand; this had
come easier than he had dared hope. He started to
back down the corridor, keeping de Socotra covered
with the gun. The latter came to the door and stood
watching him with expressionless face.
Greg dared not look behind him. It was about
twenty-five feet to the big doors; he had measured it
with his eyes; say, eight long paces. He had taken
five, when the sound of the door softly latching behind
him caused his heart to contract sharply. He whirled
around. At the same instant de Socotra sprang at him.
Greg was seized from both sides before he could find a
mark to aim at.
The second who had seized him was the negro ser-
vant, a fellow of gigantic stature with muscles like steel
bands. As Greg started to run he had caught him in his
embrace, pinning Greg's arms close to his sides and
keeping the gun deflected downwards. De Socotra with
a blow on Greg's wrist disarmed him. Greg's struggles
were as vain as those of an infant. He ceased to
struggle, designing to save his strength for a better oc-
casion. Moreover he was afraid the sounds of a
struggle might reach the girl outside and provoke her
to some rash act. With her puny strength she could
not help him now.
De Socotra repocketed the little black book, also
Greg's revolver. He relaxed and laughed mockingly.
“I don't know what your game is, my man, but evi-
dently it was a little beyond you!”
Greg glared at him. “Murderer!” was on his


In the House on Ninth Street 59
tongue's tip, but prudence restrained him from uttering
1t.
“Look here,” said the other suddenly; “tell me who
sent you here, and the door shall be opened for you to
go. I don't fight with cabmen. You may go back
freely to him who sent you and give him my compli-
ments.”
Greg obstinately closed his mouth.
“It's a fair offer,” said de Socotra mildly. “Better
take it. There are men up-stairs who will not let you
off so easily.”
Again he waited to give Greg a chance to speak.
Finally he said: “I can't wait here all night, you
know.”
“You needn't wait,” said Greg. “I’m not going to
tell you.”
De Socotra favored him with a sharp look. “I beg
your pardon,” he said ironically; “I see you're no cab-
man. Milio, bring him up-stairs.”
He led the way into the house through the main
door. The negro followed, half carrying Greg, half
pushing him before him. At the steps he tossed him up
as easily as a straw man. Greg ground his teeth at the
humiliating posture, but still forbore to struggle. The
first room of the house was a foyer hall, handsomely
finished in paneled walnut, but without any furniture.
A finely carved stairway came down at one side. De
Socotra mounted with leisurely tread; the man was as
straight as a tree, his small head poised with inimitable
arrogant grace. The negro carried Greg after. Greg
might have given him considerable trouble on the


60 The Owl Taxi
stairs, but he still saved his strength until he should
see some chance of getting away.
On the floor above they passed into the front room,
their entrance creating a veritable sensation among the
small crowd of men gathered there. No sound had
warned of trouble below. This was likewise a hand-
some room but without any furnishings except some
cheap pine tables and chairs. Heavy stuff curtains hung
before the three windows, but these were evidently for
the purpose of darkening them, rather than for decora-
tion. It looked like the hastily improvised meeting-
place of a political circle or a gang of plotters.
There were about a dozen men in the room, some
Spanish-Americans, others undoubtedly of these United
States. The two men who had come to de Socotra at
the Meriden were both present. All stared at the
negro and his burden with amazed eyes, and questions
in both Spanish and English were fired at de Socotra.
The latter moved among these men with the air of
an undisputed leader. Their agitation amused him,
and he made them wait awhile before he answered. To
the negro he said:
“Put the man down. He can't escape. Stand by the
door.”
When he finally deigned to answer their questions
he spoke in English. Greg marked that he said noth-
ing about having ridden in his cab earlier, but let them
assume that he had never seen Greg before. Greg sup-
posed this was because he did not care to confess that
the explanation of Greg's reappearance was a com-
plete mystery to him; for all his cool airs de Socotra
was deeply puzzled by that. The two men who had


In the House on Ninth Street 6I
seen to the disposal of the body apparently did not
recognize Greg. They could not have seen him but
for a moment as he drove on the ferry in the dark.
All the men in the room were amazed and panic-
stricken to learn that some outsider knew of the little
black book, but no word was dropped that gave Greg
any hint of the contents. A furious polyglot discussion
arose. The more frightened demanded that Greg be
put out of the way instanter—one spoke of burying his
body under the cellar pavement. Others who kept their
heads better insisted on the necessity of first finding out
who had sent him, and how much he knew of their af-
fairs.
De Socotra listened with a cynical, detached air. Fi-
nally he said: “Well, gentlemen, there's no advantage
in letting him hear more than he knows already. I
would suggest that you confine him in another room,
until you settle what is to be done with him.”
At this moment one of the Spaniards, a stocky, scowl-
ing youth with a purplish scar on his left cheek bone,
peeped through the curtains hanging before one of the
windows. He said in English: “His cab is still at the
door. The engine is running.”
“Who can run it?” asked de Socotra.
“I can,” said the previous speaker.
“Then go down and run it away somewhere—any-
where, and leave it.”
The man moved towards the door. Greg's heart
sunk, thinking of the girl. The door was well guarded,
but there was no one in front of him at the moment.
He sprang across the room. Taken by surprise they
were not quick enough to stop him. Snatching a cur-


62 The Owl Taxi
tain aside, with a blow of his two fists he smashed out
the glass behind and cried:
“Beat it! Beat it!”
He was instantly snatched away from the window,
but he had the satisfaction of hearing the old flivver
get under way long before the man could get down
stairs; he had the satisfaction, too, of seeing the cool
and cynical de Socotra grind his teeth and mutter a
curse as he realized that the explanation of what he so
much wanted to know had been just outside the door
all this time.
The uproar in the room was redoubled. They rushed
at Greg now, pummeling him, and trying to kick him.
He fought back blindly. He would have been worse
hurt had they not got in each other's way. It was some
moments before de Socotra could make his voice heard.
“Gentlemen! You forget yourselves! Hands off
him! The window is out. Do you want to arouse the
neighborhood?”
They drew back scowling. The room became quiet
again. Greg, bruised, fiery-eyed and panting, had his
back against the wall.
De Socotra went on in his icy voice: “If it is neces-
sary to execute this man in the interest of the Cause all
right. But I will not have you maul him like a pack of
terriers. You, Sforza, conceal yourself behind the cur-
tains and see if an alarm has been raised in the street.”
One disappeared through the curtains. The negro
was dispatched for rope. When he returned Greg's
wrists were unceremoniously tied behind his back, and
his ankles tied. The man at the window reappeared to
say that while several windows near by had been


In the House on Ninth Street 63
tnrown up, the aroused ones had apparently gone back
to bed without taking action. The negro picked up the
helpless Greg and carrying him into the back room on
the same floor dropped him like a sack, and left him
alone.
For awhile he took no notice of his surroundings.
To be trussed up like a fowl ready for roasting seemed
to be the lowest degree of ignominy possible to a man:
a despairing rage filled him; his heart seemed like to
burst his breast; he rolled helplessly on the floor.
Then dimly he began to realize that his impotent
rage was only destroying him, and little by little with a
great effort of the will he succeeded in disciplining it.
He had to think, and in order to think a clear brain
was necessary.
Must he end in that house like a trapped rat? Youth
at the flood could not conceive of coming to an end.
He put that thought from him. “I will get out! I
will!” he told himself. “They dare not kill me if I am
not afraid!”
Meanwhile the girl outside might contrive to aid
him. But he determined not to count on her. She was
so little and young and inexperienced she would
not know what to do. What could she do? If she
applied for help it would be only to betray her own
secret. She ran her own terrible danger. He shud-
dered. Well, that thought must be put out of his mind
too. Let him once get out and he would save her.
Greg took careful stock of his surroundings. The
room he was in was a companion to the room in front.
It occupied the whole width of the house, and it had
but the one door opening into the central hall. Oppo-


64 The Owl Taxi
site were three tall windows looking to the rear.
Enough light came through them to show Greg that
this room like the others was bare of furniture. There
was a handsome chimney piece against the right hand
wall. The house was solidly built and no sounds
reached him.
Suddenly the door was opened softly, and for an in-
stant Greg's astonished eyes beheld a woman's figure
outlined against the faint light in the hall. She came
in and closed the door behind her, and he heard her
hand feeling softly along the wall for the switch. It
clicked and the room was flooded with light. Greg
saw her, then the light went out again. Her startled
eyes had taken in the fact at a glance that the windows
were uncovered. Presumably they were commanded
by the windows of houses in the rear.
In that briefest of glimpses she was unforgettably
impressed on Greg's vision. It was a strange appari-
tion in that empty and sinister house; a beautiful
woman, a lady in evening dress! It was black velvet,
snugly fitting, against which her arms and neck gleamed
like marble. She was a dark beauty, another Spanish-
American perhaps, but taller than the run of Latin
women; she had hair like a raven's wing, eyes like twin
black pools and voluptuous crimson lips. She was
carrying something, but he had not time to see what it
WaS.
She came towards him in the dark, bringing a subtle
perfume. “You poor fellow!” she murmured. “Can
I do anything for you?” -
Greg's feelings were mixed; he took it for granted
that she was one of the same lot; moreover he was


In the House on Ninth Street 65
ashamed to be found by a woman in so lowly a posture.
“Who are you?” he asked sullenly.
“Your friend,” she breathed. •
One in Greg's position could hardly refuse an offer
of friendship. His heart warmed to her. Yet he did
not altogether abandon caution. Something about her
still repelled him; her foreignness perhaps. She spoke
excellent English, but not with the unconsciousness of
the native born.
“How can I help you?” she murmured.
“Help me to get out of here,” said Greg bluntly.
“I daren't!” she whispered. “They would kill me
if they found out. Besides it is useless. The house is
full of men. All the doors are guarded.”
“Cut this rope and I'll take my chances of getting
out.”
“I daren't,” she wailed. “But maybe I can loosen it
a little.”
Careless of her fine dress, she dropped to her knees
on the dusty floor beside him. What she had in her
hand she put down. It sounded like a plate. Greg rolled
over, and with her soft warm hands she fumbled with
the knots at his wrists, not with much success. Her
hands trembled a little as if in confusion at being
forced to touch a strange man. Greg was thinking
principally of the plate.
“What was that you brought?” he asked.
“You are hungry?”
“Famished. I suppose it's ten hours since I ate.”
“There was nothing cooked in this house, but I
brought biscuits and chocolate. Are your hands more
comfortable now?”


66 The Owl Taxi
“Not much. How can I eat with my hands tied?”
“I will feed you,” she said with a charming confu-
sion in her voice.
She proceeded to do so, feeling for his lips with her
fingers and pressing chocolate and sweet biscuits be-
tween them. In good sooth the situation was romantic
enough, the warm breathing woman bending over him
in the dark, fragrant as a flower; there was something
infinitely caressing in the touch of her fingers, neverthe-
less Greg remained cold. He could think of nothing
but how to get out.
“You are not like a common taxi-driver,” she said
presently.
Greg was reminded with a little pang of the other
woman who had said that. “I'm a taxi-driver,” he
replied. “As to common that's not for me to say.”
“You speak like an educated man.”
He shrugged. “Who are you?” he asked for the
second time.
“A prisoner like yourself.”
It occurred to him as strange that a prisoner should
have been so anxious to keep lights from showing in
the windows. “What sort of joint is this anyhow?”
he asked.
“Joint?”
“Who are these men? What are they?”
“I don't know. They tell me nothing.”
“But if you live here you must hear and see what
goes on. What do you make of it?”
“It's politics of some kind,” she said vaguely. “I
don't understand. How did you happen to come
here?”


In the House on Ninth Street 67
“I was sent.”
“By whom?”
“A fare who engaged me on the street.”
“What sort of person?”
“Well, I'm not much of a hand at description. An
ordinary looking fellow, middle-aged, plainly dressed,
nothing special about him.”
“You’re just fooling me!” she said reproachfully.
“You don’t trust me.”
“Why should I trust you?” said Greg bluntly. “You
don't answer my questions but only ask me others.”
“Ask me anything, anything!” she said passionately.
“I look to you to save me!”
“Who are you, and what are you doing in this
house?”
“It's a miserable story!” she said in a shamed voice.
“My name is Clelie Mendizabal. I am a Peruvian.
My father died a few years ago leaving us penniless.
I had to go to work. Well, in Peru a girl who works
for her living is looked down upon, so I determined to
come to New York. They said that the streets of New
York were fairly paved with gold. I had no difficulty
in finding work here, but I soon found that a work-
ing girl has no easy time in America either. There
was a man from my own country who made believe to
be my friend—I trusted him—Ah! I was so friend-
less here! I thought no wrong. I went about with
him—Oh, how can I go on! One night a month ago
he brought me to this house saying that it was a res-
taurant. I—I have not been out of it since!”
Somehow this piteous tale failed of conviction. For
one thing the teller, in the one brief glimpse he had


68 The Owl Taxi
had of her, had seemed much too radiant and bloom-
ing to be the victim of so terrible a fate. Moreover,
she had seemed to tell it with a certain gusto that
suggested the pride of authorship. It might be true,
but Greg resolved to keep an open mind.
“Why don't you throw up the window yonder and
call for help?” he asked.
“They're locked.”
“Windows are never locked on the outside,” he
said dryly. “You could hang from the sill and drop
without danger. It can't be more than twelve feet or
so to the ground. And climb over the fence into one
of the other back yards. Or if you couldn't get over
the fence you could scream for help until the neighbors
rescued you.”
“People don't want to rescue one like me,” she said
mournfully.
“Nonsense! Times have changed. They're crazy
about it nowadays. Cut me loose, and I'll undertake
to get you out.”
“But I'm afraid of you. Who are you? Tell me
truly.”
“Elmer Fishback,” said Greg, grinning in the dark.
“Who sent you here, really?”
“I told you. A fare who picked me up. I don't
know his name.”
She put her two hands on his shoulders and brought
her face close to his; he sensed the great languorous
eyes in the dark. “Trust me,” she whispered. “You
will never regret it!”
Greg was exquisitely uncomfortable. He desired to
make use of this woman if he could, but he found him-


In the House on Ninth Street 69
self unable to produce the slightest semblance of
warmth. He got out of it the best way he could.
“A man bound hand and foot like this can feel noth-
ing for a woman,” he said. “He is not a man but a
mere log! Free my hands and I'll show you!”
Her instinct was not deceived. She drew away with
a sharp little movement in which Greg apprehended
danger. “How can I trust you if you will not trust
me?” she said somberly.
“What difference does it make how I came here if
the main thing for both of us is to get out?”
“I couldn't go with you unless I knew who you were.
Won't you tell me how you came here?”
Greg was already at the end of his powers of dis-
simulation. “No,” he said curtly.
She rose with a single movement, and gliding to the
door threw it open. “Francisco!” she called.
De Socotra's leisurely figure appeared in the light of
the doorway. “Well, my dear?” he drawled mock-
ingly.
She was glad to throw off the mask, it seemed. “I
can get nothing out of this fellow. Better hand him
over to the men.”
Greg had suspected her throughout, nevertheless
this frank unmasking outraged his sense of decency.
“You liar!” he cried involuntarily.
She was clearly revealed in the doorway. He saw
her elevate her fine shoulders and smile at de Socotra.
No man surely could have displayed such hardihood.
“If there's nothing further for me to do I believe I'll
go home,” she said, affecting to stifle a yawn.
“Very well, my dear. Pleasant dreams.”


70 The Owl Taxi
She passed from Greg's sight.
De Socotra made a signal to those outside, and two
men followed him into the room. He had a small
pocket flash which he threw on Greg. To the two men
he said:
“I give him in your charge now to be treated as you
see fit. Better have Milio carry him down cellar for
you where his cries cannot be heard.”
The brawny negro appeared and hoisted Greg on
his back. Greg believed he had heard his doom pro-
nounced, and his heart was low. All of a sudden life
seemed ineffably sweet. He set his jaw hard, and
glared at his enemies. They should not see him
weaken.
Greg was carried back down the carved stairway.
The two men whom he looked upon as his appointed
executioners followed, and in the position in which he
was being carried there was nothing for Greg to do
but look in their faces. He saw no mercy there. The
one had a stiff, rough crop of hair that started to grow
far back on his head, and a long, scraggy neck. He
swallowed continually. He looked like a carrion-eat-
ing bird. The other was still more horrible: short
and dumpy with a moist, livid face like something half-
cooked in too much grease. These two were followed
by others of their ilk. The more human-looking indi-
viduals remained up-stairs. With every step of the
descent something seemed to whisper to Greg: “Take
your last look at light and life!”
The dark beauty, closely cloaked and veiled for the
street, had preceded them down the stairs. When
they got half way down Greg heard the door from


72 The Owl Taxi
“Take this man with you,” he commanded. “Do
you want to leave him behind to identify us all?”
Very unwillingly the negro picked up Greg again
and followed the others out into the corridor. De
Socotra put out all lights and brought up the rear.
They turned to the right in the corridor, that is to
say, towards the rear of the lot. Through a covered
way at the back they gained another building, pre-
sumably the original stable of the establishment. As
the stable door closed behind them, Greg heard the
blows of a heavy piece of timber on the front doors.
De Socotra locked the doors that they passed through.
In the back wall of the stable there was a door which
admitted them to still another building, a rear tene-
ment apparently on the lot abutting behind. It was
empty. They then crossed a narrow paved court, and
struck through a long close passage. The lights of a
street gleamed at the far end; a trolley car rumbled in
the distance—inexpressibly friendly sound to the pris-
Oner.
At the mouth of the passage the fugitives all clung
together, apparently afraid to venture out into the
lighted street.
De Socotra coming up with them commanded: “Do
not linger here. There is no one in sight. Scatter in
different directions. Do not run. You are safe enough.
There is nothing to connect you with the Ninth Street
house. Go! You will hear from me in due course.”
They melted away, leaving only de Socotra and the
negro in the passage. The latter had dropped Greg to
the pavement. It was of brick, and a tiny trickle of
cold water ran down the middle of it. The negro made


In the House on Ninth Street 73
some whining complaint to his master that Greg could
not catch.
“Oh, crack him over the head!” said de Socotra
impatiently. “Stick his body in some out of the way
corner, and go to your own place. Don't leave the
rope behind for evidence.”
That was the last Greg knew. Oddly enough he
heard the sound of the blow that he did not feel. Con-
sciousness was snuffed out.


The Taxi Yard 75
few moments he was able to stand, leaning for support
against the rough stones. He saw that he was at the
bottom of a deep area-way between sidewalk and
foundation wall. The building was a great stable.
From the open barred windows below the street level
came the quiet sound of munching and an occasional
stamp on old planks.
He got a better look at his unknown friend. On
the stage such a make-up would have been hailed as a
triumph: his hat had the jaunty air of utter abandon-
ment; his overcoat made Greg's own look as if new
come from the tailor's, the holes in it with the various
layers of interlining protruding their frayed edges were
like strange blossoms applique; through his broken
shoes his bent old toes winked shamelessly.
He was fussing around Greg like a hen with one
chick. “How do you feel now, Jack? The steps is
just behind you. Take it real slow. I'll come behind
to keep you from falling backwards. I'd carry you
on'y I ain't got me stren'th back since I had the shakes.”
Little by little they got up the long steep steps. At
the top Greg rested himself against the iron fence that
topped the well. “I was flung over there,” he thought
wonderingly. “Lord! I must be tougher than I
thought !” He saw that he was in MacDougall Street
between Clinton Place and the Square, not more than
two hundred yards or so from where the gang had
issued from the passage.
“I was leaning against this wery fence thinking, when
I look over and see you down there,” said the ragged
one. “Your white face was looking straight up at
me. First-off I thought I had 'em again! But you


down to Washi
stopped to thin
Street when the
of things; an old
half good, or a
salt fish is the best. I
Then I follow the b *Y Wagon on its rounds, and
get the drips when they bri
the cellar. But it's too late now. All
there before me.”
Greg felt of
his pocket. “I’ve got money,” he said. .
“I’ll blow you to **egular square meal.”
The other with *"od accepted this aS
his due. “Of C
no more than
d you before
reg “but I'm on the level,
anbury Joe is on the
Personal histo
tone that su
ggested the oft-repeated tale
nufacturer in a
sir, I sported a dicer and
of them. I had a
ry in a lyrical
: “I used to
hat town, a millionaire. Yes,
en the
more natural tone, “if I
I could buy me a bottle of c
• • ough
medicine.” He coughed affectingly.


The Taxi Yard 77
Greg handed over the dollar.
“We hadn't ought to stand here,” Joe went on ner-
vously, “the sun's up. A cop might get nosey. If
there's anythin' I hate it's a nosey cop. If you're
able to walk I'll take you to my hangout. It's an old
vacant house on the south side the Square. We go in
through the area door when there's no one looking.
It's a great crowd there ev'y night. You hear won-
derful stories of travel around the fire.”
Greg thanked him but declined the invitation for
the present. He was beginning to feel stronger. “If
I could get a cup of coffee and a bite I’d be all right,”
he said.
“Follow me,” said Joe. “I know a place round in
Sixth.”
Half an hour later Greg, still stiff and sore but
otherwise himself again, started to make his way from
Sixth Avenue through Ninth Street. In the broad light
of day he felt not a little conspicuous in his shabby
taxi-driver's make-up, but nobody appeared to look
at him. His heart beat fast as he approached the little
house with the big doors. As soon as he turned the
corner he saw a policeman on guard in front and a
little knot of the curious gathered near.
Arrived in front of the house he saw that the big
doors had been smashed in. The policeman stood
swinging his club, bored and nonchalant, in sharp con-
trast to the gaping by-standers. Thirsty as he was for
news, Greg dared not call attention to himself by ap-
plying to Authority. Instead, he loitered among the


he Wl Taxi
<-D- ='' "g h; * open. H h
on-1- ~11 dear I I Ppin -bag *ay to her frie
*::::::: h Se ": *id there Was some
-- - -
ab co-- =# 'ng h c. '" £is ':
Ha- °Wn-sta; y
SuC <= hit on a. h kitchen Windows.
'-- -: d G - for rent Think
thr- - ~walked y C OWs Tight On the sidewalk!
# => say a cr'"ld *e you in Your boodg:
#: buil
- II last -
do="->ve y
-
* it years ag
it I: *ight
•e I’é It lies
IHa-
—t
still card a Crash
Earlor 'indo' °n the s
the-
for comfor
Or the dead!”
e • •
+L- #"gham jun'" information f
: -E_Els C Perhaps, W *
CP
rom an Iri
the engineer of an apar
- 9 was describing the affair to an
r = * know -
—the Case P on th beat told me the r
of Y up to ems Out four
£ lad th Station
1 r 1
ey say • y ' * Young fello.
WaS bein "un in and told the Sergeant th
£P.' Sarg's 'er'd * Five thir
Haley rode ba
# = door 1..."C
ty West Ni.
a dozen of the reserve
but With the kid in his fli er. They bea,
He back int # *ng got out through a *cret way
‘t can Set O Clinto, Place and scattered. Th II]a
2- al There Wasn't a •


The Taxi Yard 79
to show what they'd been up to. Nothin' but some
kitchen chairs and tables. Now they're trying to trace
who hired the house from the old lady what owns it,
but she don't know. She got her rent in advance and
that's all she asked.”
“What about the boy who gave the alarm?”
“There's a mystery about him too. In the excite-
ment he disappeared with his cab, and nobody had
thought to take down his number. A real good-lookin'
boy, they said; not over sixteen year old.”
Greg hung around a bit, but no further information
was forthcoming, and he finally went on. His heart
was heavy with anxiety for his plucky little companion
of the night before. So she had been the means of
saving him. But what had become of her when day-
light overtook her? what had she done with the cab?
The only thing he had to go on was the fact that he
had given her the address of the yard where he had
meant to keep the cab. Perhaps she had taken it
, there. He started to find out.
Gibbon Street proved to be a little thoroughfare on
the extreme ragged edge of Manhattan Island, a little
backwater of the town passed by by the main currents.
It was three blocks long with a bend in the middle.
Down one side stretched a row of dilapidated little
brick tenements occupied by freer spirits than the dense
rookeries farther west; on the other side were lumber
yards, coal yards and small manufactories. Greg had
no difficulty in finding what he sought. Just at the
bend in the street between two yards a little store bore
the sign “Bickle's Grocery.”
It was a little aged two-story house with the mortar


80 The Owl Taxi
coming out from between the bricks. The store was
surely one of the smallest in New York. Peeping
through the window Greg saw a bewildering variety
of objects displayed for sale. Besides the storekeeper
there could hardly have been room for more than
three customers at a time. Beside the store was a
gateway and Greg went through here. The bend in
the street made an irregularly shaped lot and it opened
up unexpectedly behind. Around two sides of this yard
was built an open shed providing stabling for half a
dozen taxi-cabs or so.
There were four cabs there at the moment, among
which he instantly picked out his own. He knew her
by her rakish list to starboard. His license number,
by the way, which he had scarcely taken note of before,
was T701 1. The cab seemed to be all right, but this
was the lesser half of his anxieties; where was its late
driver? He looked inside half hoping to see a little
figure curled up on the seat, but it was empty.
A baritone voice hailed him from the back door of
the little house, a voice with a “no-nonsense-now”
ring: “Hey, fella, what do you want?”
Greg beheld a fat woman with arms akimbo regard-
ing him fiercely, a woman more than fat, mountainous.
It was the kind of fat that goes with the highest degree
of activity and energy; that massive forearm might
have felled a prize-fighter. Moreover the honest,
choleric blue eye proclaimed the tartar; it was the
proprietress, no doubt, and a person to be propitiated.
Greg approached her, cap in hand. She did not re-
lent at all; on the contrary she seemed to find in his
politeness an added cause for suspicion.


The Taxi Yard 8I
“I’m the new Elmer Fishback,” he announced. “I
bought old T7011 from Hickey Meech last night.
Here is the bill of sale he gave me.”
She looked over his papers with a sharp eye. “Do
you want to stay on here?” she demanded.
“If you please, ma'am.”
“My terms is the same to all. Dollar and a half a
week in advance, with free water from the tap for
washing. I serve meals to them that wants them at
seven, twelve and six only. Regular fifteen cents; sec-
ond helping a quarter. Beds twenty cents a sleep night
or day.”
“That's reasonable,” murmured Greg.
“You’re right it's reasonable, times like these.” She
fixed him with a terrible eye. “There's one thing's
got to be understood at the start. I says the same to
every man that comes here. I'm a respectable woman
and I won't stand for no crooked work, see? Your
car is registered from this address, and if you get into
trouble the police will come here for you. I won't
stall them off. So it's up to you, see?”
“I understand, ma'am,” said Greg humbly.
In spite of herself a twinkle lightened her grim
glance. A long and no doubt disillusioning experience
had made her suspicious of strangers, and there was
much about Greg that remained to be explained; at
the same time his clean youthfulness must have ap-
pealed to her after the tag ends of humanity she was
accustomed to dealing with. She liked him and tried
not to show it.
Greg taking courage from the twinkle said: “I got
into a bit of trouble last night—nothing crooked on


82 The Owl Taxi
my part, ma'am, but a gang in Ninth Street set on me
and beat me up. A friend brought my cab in for me,
a young boy; you didn't happen to see him, did you?”
Bessie Bickle shook her head. “I sleep nights like
a Christian,” she said grimly. “That reminds me of
something else. I don't hold myself responsible for
anything left in the yard. All day I'm in and out my
kitchen and I keep an eye out, but at night it's up to
you. Most of the boys is out all night anyway, and
when they're in they're gen’ally sleeping in their cabs.
There's Blossom waked up. Ast him if he seen your
friend.”
As Greg turned away from the door she called to
him, still with the grim air that he soon learned she
had adopted out of self-protection: “Say you, break-
fast is over now, but come in to dinner on me. There's
spare-ribs and cabbage.”
“Much obliged, ma'am,” said Greg. He thanked
the stars that had directed him to such a friendly soul
in a selfish world.
A man had shoved his car out of the shed and was
preparing to wash it at the hydrant. Since the water
was allowed to find its own sweet way out of the yard
there was always a muddy hole in the middle—which
did not lessen the labor of washing. Even now the
man was cursing the mud. Greg had been struck by
his name Blossom; but when he raised his head Greg
saw that he who bore so poetic an appellation was no
beauty. The “Blossom” was a brandy blossom per-
haps, referring to his nose. He was a lean, exhausted-
looking, morose individual.
“H'are you?” said Greg affably.


The Taxi Yard 83
A grunt was the only reply.
“How's business?”
“Rotten l’”
“Bad weather for taxis.”
“Rotten l’’
“What's the matter? You seem a bit down on your
luck.”
“Rotten l’’ declared Blossom, like a bird with one
note. “I got a pain in me back and two flat tires; a
fellow done me out of my fare last night. Every-
thing is rotten!”
“I’ll help with the tires,” said Greg.
The morose one stared. “You’re new,” he said
grimly.
Greg nodded towards T7011. “My car,” he said.
“Oh, the machine gun,” said Blossom. “God help
you! Rotten old boat! Where's Hickey?”
“I’d be glad to know that myself.”
“Owes me half a dollar,” said Blossom.
“Have you seen my friend that brought her in?”
asked Greg anxiously, “young boy?”
Blossom shook his head. “He woke me up backin'
and fillin', tryin' to snake her in. I knew it was a
green hand bringin' in the machine gun. I cursed him,
but I didn't get up. Us fellows gets little enough
sleep. He was a determined cuss all right; stuck at
it till he got her in.” -
Watching Greg's handy way with the tires Blossom
said: “You’re not so new.”
“First time I've been on my own,” said Greg, wish-
ing to convey that he had long been a chauffeur for
others.


84 The Owl Taxi
“You made a mistake,” said Blossom dejectedly.
“Rotten life! Look at me. You're tormented night
and day not knowing how you're going to come out.
As soon as you get square something breaks on you
and there's another repair bill. Give me another man's
car under me and my pay Saturday night.”
“Oh well, there's the independence of it,” said
Greg. -
“To Hell with Independence! Independence don't
pay no repair bills!” *
When the tires were fixed Blossom desired to bor-
row a pump. As he got it from under his front seat
Greg saw what had escaped his notice before, a little
label pasted on his wind-shield on a line level with the
eyes of any one who should sit at the wheel. On it
was written in bold characters:
“Seek and ye shall find.”
Greg grinned to himself in high satisfaction. She
had her wits about her! Handing over the pump to
Blossom, he returned to his car and proceeded to make
a thorough search.
Tucked behind the back seat he found a small hard
object wrapped in a bit of paper. The paper opened
in his hand, and his astonished eyes beheld a beautiful
platinum corsage pin set with a dozen gleaming dia-
monds. Workmanship and stones were of the finest;
a glance told him it was worth hundreds of dollars.
There was more writing on the inside of this paper.
“This is for necessary expenses. Pawn it.
I'm going back to the hotel.”


The Taxi Yard 85
An exclamation from Blossom caused Greg to look
up. He dropped the pin in his pocket. Another man
had entered the taxi yard. Greg's attention was first
caught by the suit he wore. It had a strangely fa-
miliar look. It was one of his own! The wearer was
no other than Hickey Meech.
“Well, I'm damned!” said Greg involuntarily.


Greg's Rival 87
Greg shrugged.
“Oh, I know I'm a fool,” said Hickey with a kind
of cheerful despair. “You don't have to tell me.
Every man has his own special kind of dam foolish-
ness. Mine's the little bone cubes.” He snapped his
fingers. “Come you little lubly seben I’”
“You’ve got a nerve to show yourself around here.”
“Only place I had to come to,” said Hickey simply.
“Besides somepin told me you wouldn't be hard on a
poor mutt like me,”—this with his inimitable insinuat-
ing grin. “Let me sleep awhile in the flivver, will yeh?
I'm all in.”
In spite of himself Greg began to relent. “If you
want to square yourself with me you've got to tell me
the truth about how you came by that body,” he said.
“You didn't think I croaked the guy, did you?” said
Hickey.
“No. But I want to know all the circumstances. A
lot has happened since you unloaded it on me.”
“Ain’t got much to tell,” said Hickey. “I see by the
papie last night that the Allianca from Central Ameri-
can ports was sighted off the Hook and was going to
dock about ten o'clock. Well, when one of them little
vessels docks at night it gives us fellows a show, see?
for the swell drivers won't come down-town for it. So
I goes to the pier and I draws two of them dagoes;
one was him that I threw in with the flivver, see? and
the other was a small slender fella with a little black
mustache. The old guy couldn't speak no English;
the young fella talked for him. He told me to take
them to Jersey City by the Twenty-third Street ferry,
see?


88 The Owl Taxi
“Well, I drove up West and up Eleventh Avenue
and I was almost to the ferry when I hear a funny
noise in the cab behind me, a scrabbling sort of sound.
I looked around, and it looked to me like the old boy
was having a fit. So I pulled up beside the curb and
opened the door. That was in front of the Brevard
House where I met up with you later.
“The old fella was hanging over all limp-like with
his hands hanging to the floor, and the young guy was
trying to pull him up. Say, that young guy was scared,
he was. He was so scared he was green. He says to
me as well as he could for his teeth chattering: “My
friend is took sick, says he, “real sick.’
“Well, I didn't need anybody to tell me that. It
seemed natural for the fella to be scared. I helped him
boost the old dago up on the seat comfortable. ‘Hold
him up a minute, says the young guy, and I'll run in
here and ast where's the nearest doctor guy.”
“Innocent as a baby, I was. Oh, yes, soft as a rot-
ten orange; soft in the head. I stood there holding
the old fella up and the little slender guy he scampered
like a mouse into the bar of the Brevard House. I
soon saw the old guy was all in. I waited one minute,
two minutes, I dunno, and then it come to me like a
clap that I'd been sold. I pulled the old guy's legs
out a little so's he wouldn't fall over on his face, but
then darned if he didn't slide out of the seat on his
back and crumple up on the floor. But I slammed the
door on him and run into the bar. I ast the bar-keep
for the little slender guy. Just walked through, he
says, “went out by the side door. Say, I was sick!
“Well, that's all there is to it. It give me such a


Greg's Rival 89
nasty turn I lost me nerve. I couldn't just bring myself
to go back to the flivver with that pore old soft floppy
corp in the back. Him walking around on two legs as
good as myself, not a half hour before ! I stood there
lappin' up whiskeys and then you come in. We talked
—say, maybe I wasn't glad to have somebody to talk
tol and one thing led to another, and I had an impulse
to sell the whole outfit to you and like a fool I did. I
had ought to have carried the corp direct to the sta-
tion; they didn't have nothing on me. But I always
was an impulsive guy. It has been my ruin!”
Greg saw no reason to doubt any part of this story;
the details were convincing; moreover they fitted with
what he already knew. Evidently the actual murderer,
de Socotra's agent, had been thrown into a panic by
the cabman's unexpected discovery of the crime. He
had fled, and thus de Socotra's plans had been mo-
mentarily upset.
“What killed the old man?” asked Greg.
“Search me,” said Hickey. “There was no mark
on him that I could see.”
“Would you recognize the young man with the little
black mustache if you saw him again?”
“Would Il Night or day; from in front or behind.”
“Our job must be to find him,” said Greg. “It’ll be
worth something handsome to you if you can run him
down.”
“Who was the poor old guy?” asked Hickey, “a
South American millionaire?”
“Not exactly. I'll tell you the whole story in time.
Can't stop now. Did you claim my baggage on the
pier?”


90 The Owl Taxi
Hickey shook his head. Diving into his pocket he
produced the crumpled claim checks. “I was afraid
you'd catch me if I stopped to claim it.”
“Good!” said Greg. “These clothes will come in
handy. First of all I’ll drive to the pier and get them.”
Hickey put on a make-believe aggrieved air. “Hold
on. What do I get out of this? The clothes are mine,
ain't they? Part payment for the flivver.”
“That'll be about all,” said Greg grimly. “I didn't
contract to buy a hearse, remember.”
Hickey hastily changed his tune. “All right. All
right. You needn't get sore. You can have your old
clothes.”
“Just the same I'll deal liberally with you,” said
Greg. “We'll make the old cab do double duty. When
I'm sleeping or busy you can run her, and vice versa.
If we keep her in repair she ought to provide a living
for both. If you'll turn over your takings to me, I'll
settle with Bessie Bickle for your keep and credit you
with the balance. When you've paid back the two
hundred you got from me I'll retire from the concern
in your favor. I pay for repairs, and we go halves on
oil and gasoline.”
Hickey agreed that this was more than fair.
“All right, climb into Blossom's cab and take a
sleep while I'm gone. Or get a room from Bessie.
I'll have to have a room to change in when I get back.
We have a lot to do to-day.”
“Do you mind staking me for a little breakfast?”
asked Hickey meekly. “I’ll take it outside if it's all
the same to you. I'd sooner face a she-tiger than
brace Bessie between meals.”


Greg's Rival 9I
“All right, jump in, and I'll drop you at the first
lunch-room.”
In half an hour Greg was back at the yard with his
baggage. In the meantime Hickey, following his in-
structions, had engaged a room by the week from
Bessie in their joint interest, and was even now snoring
on the bed. Greg carried his things up, and opening
his bags proceeded to array himself with particular
care. He was bound to remove the impression of a
snuffy owl driver that he must have made on a certain
party. He sighed with satisfaction at the comfortable
feel of his own clothes.
When he was dressed he remorselessly woke Hickey
and dragged him to his feet. Hickey assumed the
driver's cap and coat that he had discarded. When
they passed through Bessie's kitchen on the way out
that worthy soul opened her eyes very wide indeed at
the sight of the figure of elegance Greg was making.
She came to a stand and planted her hands aggressively
on her hips. Clearly, fine clothes were associated in
her simple mind with questionable conduct. Greg's
gloves confirmed her worst suspicions.
“I’ll be back in time for dinner,” said Greg airily.
“I’m not going to let you off those spare-ribs.”
Bessie pursed up her lips. “My poor kitchen ain’t
fitting to serve the likes of you,” she said.
“Don’t be sore just because I’ve put on my sporting
rags,” said Greg. “Need 'em in my business.”
“Fine business, I daresay,” said Bessie, sniffing.
“I see you think I'm a confidence man at the least,”
said Greg. “When I come back I'll tell you the whole
story while we eat. I want your good will.”


92 The Owl Taxi
“Well, I won't express an opinion on it till I hear
it,” said Bessie tossing her head. Nevertheless Greg
saw that she was pleased.
He got in the cab. “Where to, sir?” said Hickey,
touching his cap with a grin.
“First to a pawn-broker's,” said Greg. “I’ve heard
that Salomon's on Sixth Avenue is a good place.”
“I know it well,” said Hickey. He cranked the
flivver, and with her customary preliminary back-fires
she was off.
Greg got three hundred on the corsage pin. This
he reserved for the girl's business, of course. He still
had a little for his own expenses.
He next directed Hickey to take him to the Hotel
Meriden, without having any very clear idea of what
he would do when he got there. He did not know
whom to ask for.
As Greg mounted the steps of that great hostelry
two porters in blue flannel jumpers, laden with hat-
boxes, suit-cases, hand-bags and dressing-cases enough
to outfit a fashionable seminary came out of the door
followed by three ladies, a maid and a young gentle-
man. At sight of the lady nearest him Greg's heart
almost leaped out of his breast. It was she.
He was almost bowled over. He had much ado not
to stop and stare like a booby as they passed. He had
told himself of course that she would look very dif-
ferent in her proper clothes, still he was not prepared
for this. She seemed to have changed her very soul
with her outer attire. In boy's clothes she had been
boyish: in girl's clothes she was intoxicatingly feminine.
French hat, rich furs and artful-simple suit; coiffure,


Greg's Rival 93
filmy veil, cunning little boots—much money and more
art had been expended to create that perfect effect.
And the whole was enhanced by the rose-leaves of
youth and the shine of eager eyes. Her hair was dark
red and it was her greatest beauty.
Greg was momentarily intimidated by so high a per-
fection. Girls, if they wish an imaginative lover,
should beware not to turn themselves out too much
like princesses. She passed him with not a foot be-
tween; she must have recognized him, but her glance
passed over him as if he had not been. It hurt Greg
shrewdly. Surely she might have given him the merest
flicker of an eyelash without danger. She was chatter-
ing in Spanish.
Next to her was a handsome matron who might have
been the girl's mother, only she looked like a Spanish-
American, and the girl looked American without the
Spanish. At the sight of the third lady Greg was more
astonished than ever. It was none other than the
vivid dark beauty who had deceitfully made love to
him while he lay bound in the Ninth Street house. She
recognized him; there was no doubt about that, though
she betrayed it by no more than a startled contraction
of her glance. From Greg her eyes went with light-
ning swiftness to the other girl, and Greg forgave his
friend for cutting him.
Greg looked hard at the young gentleman of the
party. A hot little flame of jealousy scorched his
breast, for a subtle deference in the young man's air
informed Greg that he was not a member of the family.
Which girl was he after then? He had not been
among those in the Ninth Street house. In his way


94 The Owl Taxi
he was perfection too; exquisitely slender, arrogant,
assured; an Olympian youth. He looked like the
slightly exhausted scion of a long Castilian line. Greg's
intuition told him that this proud youth would aim
higher than the dark-haired beauty who, beside little
auburn hair, looked common; and Greg's honest, dem-
ocratic heart hated him at sight.
All this happened in a breath of course. The party
passed to the sidewalk, and Greg went into the hotel.
He went to the desk. To the clerk he said with an
offhand air: “I just passed a young lady on the way
out who recognized me, and I can't place her. A lit-
tle lady with dark red hair; she was with two other
ladies who looked Spanish.”
Greg's appearance was a sufficient warranty to the
clerk. “Oh yes, Señorita Amélie de Socotra,” he
said.
Greg's heart went down. “De Socotra,” he re-
peated like a man trying to remember. “And who
were the other two ladies?”
“Señora de Socotra, her mother, and Señorita
Bianca Guiterrez, a relative, a cousin I believe.”
“Ah yes, now I remember,” said Greg. “Are they
of the family of Señor Francisco de Socotra?”
“Why yes, his wife and daughter.”
Greg's brain whirled a little. He couldn't reconcile
this with what the girl herself had told him. He sud-
denly became aware that the clerk was staring at him.
“Of course,” he said, “I met them in Havana. Are
they leaving?”
“Yes. Señor de Socotra was called to Peru last
night.”


Greg's Rival 95
“Peru?” said Greg, dryly. “Peru in Irving Place,”
he thought.
“And the ladies decided to go up to the Marsden
Farms Hotel in Westchester County to await his re-
turn.”
“The Marsden Farms Hotel; thank you very
much.”
As Greg turned away from the desk he perceived
the Castilian youth reëntering the hotel. So he had
just been putting the ladies in the cab. Greg kept
the tail of an eye on him, and when he presently
strolled into the bar in his languid high-born manner,
Greg followed.
The young man with a condescending air ordered a
Bronx cocktail.
“Our drinks are scarcely good enough for him,”
thought Greg bitterly. Greg himself, a few feet dis-
tant from the other, ordered a drink he did not want,
and continued to nourish his hatred with watching the
other.
The young man sipped his drink quite unconscious
of the violent distaste he had engendered in the one
near. He asked the bar-tender a question. His Eng-
lish was poor and he had difficulty in making himself
understood. It appeared that he wanted to know
how long it would take him to drive to Thirty-Sixth
Street, as he had an engagement there, and did not
wish to start too soon.
Greg intervened and gave him the information he
wanted. The young man recognizing a gentleman in
Greg, unbent a little, and they fell into chat. He
mentioned that the address he had spoken of was the


96 The Owl Taxi
office of the Managuayan consul. Greg pricked up
his ears.
“You are from Managuay?” he asked.
The young man nodded.
Greg impelled by his burning curiosity said: “I
met two ladies from Managuay once. It was in Ha-
vana at the Palacio Presidential.”
“Ah yes,” said the other, “we all go to Havana in
the winter.”
“Señora and Señorita de Socotra,” said Greg,
watching him close.
“Ah,” said the other languidly, “my fiancée.”


CHAPTER VII
THE UNDERTAKER
REG and Hickey dined with Bessie Bickle.
Greg's zest in his adventure was gone; there
was a pretty stew of suspicion and jealousy in his
breast. In his first bitterness he even told himself
that the little red-haired girl was no better than the
rest of the gang. Nevertheless he had promised to
tell Bessie the story, and he did so, disguising his
changed feelings as best he could. That is to say, he
told them the main lines of the tale; certain details it
seemed more discreet to keep to himself.
The volatile Hickey's sympathies were completely
won. “Count on me to help you aginst them dagoes!”
he said. Bessie, while kind, was less expansive. One
could see that she was reserving judgment on a Miss
who flew about town in taxi-cabs in the middle of the
night dressed in boy's clothes.
After dinner Greg and Hickey yielded perforce to
Nature's demands and slept for a couple of hours.
Later Greg dispatched Hickey in the flivver to pick
up some business if he could; for the firm would shortly
be in need of funds. Greg himself started by trolley
car for the morgue. He told himself self-righteously
that, however his friend has deceived him, he would
carry out his part to the letter. Pressed to tell just in
97


98 The Owl Taxi
what she had deceived him he could not have told;
but he was sore.
Entering the imposing little building on the East
Side water-front his heart failed him a little, thinking
of ghastly sights awaiting within. But he was spared
all that. He saw only a business-like gentleman in a
conventional office.
It appeared that a body such as he described had
indeed been found in the North River that morning
and had been brought to the morgue in a police launch.
The description tallied in every detail down to the
ring with the curious red stone. There could be no
mistake. But to Greg's intense chagrin it transpired
that, only an hour or so before, the body had been
identified and claimed by one who pretended to be the
dead man's nephew. Having satisfied the authorities
of his right to receive it, he had had the body trans-
ferred to an undertaker's shop.
The name given had been Alfieri. The dead man
was said to have jumped overboard from a ferry-boat
while demented. The claimant had been identified to
the satisfaction of the authorities, which suggested to
Greg that the gang he had to deal with possessed wide-
spreading influence in the background. The authori-
ties had been the more easily satisfied because there
was no mark on the body to suggest foul play; and be-
sides the man's jewelry a considerable sum of money
had been found on his person. There was no question
of a robbery.
Greg satisfied himself with obtaining the address of
the undertaker, and said nothing here about the facts
of the case. He suspected that the newspaper offices


The Undertaker 99
must be in close touch with the morgue, and he had
no desire to explode a public sensation until he was
surer of his ground.
The body had not been taken to one of the humble
establishments in the neighborhood, but to a fine place
half way up-town; “mortuarian” read the sign. It
was the first time Greg had been in such a place. He
found the religio-commercial atmosphere, the heavy
professional commiseration rather oppressive. “Why
can't undertakers be simply business-like?” he asked
himself.
In the handsome, subdued private office of the pro-
prietor he found himself faced by a clayey-faced indi-
vidual, irreproachably and sably clad, whose expression
of preternatural woe was lightened in spite of himself
by a spark of anticipation at the sight of, as he thought,
a new customer. Greg disliked him at sight. No-
body likes an undertaker; not their fault of course;
they have painful associations for all.
“Good afternoon, sir,” said the undertaker with
an air that seemed to say further: “I know the sad
errand that has brought you to me, and I feel for you
from the bottom of my heart!” Just the same Greg
had the feeling that he would have rubbed his hands,
had he not been told that it was unrefined.
All this made Greg a little brusquer than he need
have been. “I understand you received a body from
the morgue this afternoon said to be that of a Señor
Alfieri.”
The undertaker's manner changed. “Morgue”
brought out so bluntly offended his delicate susceptibili-


IOO The Owl Taxi
ties. He apprehended an unfriendly atmosphere. He
signified an affirmative.
“Is it here now?” asked Greg.
“May I ask what is your interest in the matter?”
“I represent the dead man's niece.”
“Yes, it is here.”
“May I see it?”
“Er—Not at the moment. It is being prepared. A
little later perhaps—if you will be good enough to
bring the necessary authorization.”
“Authorization from whom?”
“Señor Alberto Alfieri, the dead man's nephew, who
engaged the services of my establishment.”
“Would you mind describing this man to me?”
The undertaker looked astonished, but complied
nevertheless. “A young Spanish-American gentleman,
short and stocky, very dark, pale skin through which
his beard showed though he was freshly shaven, a
purplish scar on his left cheek bone.”
Greg recognized the description of one of the men
in the Ninth Street house. “I believe I have met the
gentleman,” he said dryly, “but I cannot promise to
produce credentials from him. Instead I will try to
bring the dead man's niece here to-morrow morning to
identify the body.”
“That will be too late, sir.”
“What do you mean?”
“My instructions are to have the body cremated
without delay. I ship to the crematory this evening.”
Greg struck his fist into his palm. “I might have
essed as much!” he cried.
“I don't understand you, sir.”


The Undertaker IOI
“You have been deceived!” said Greg earnestly.
“This is really the body of Antonio Bareda who was
murdered. His murderers are trying to destroy the
evidence of their crime.”
The undertaker smiled indulgently. “My dear sir!
This is a preposterous charge! You may be assured
that I satisfied myself everything was in order before
I accepted the work.”
“How in order?’” Greg demanded.
“The death certificate, the permit from the Board of
Health, the younger Mr. Alfieri's credentials 95
“They have both money and influence,” put in Greg.
“The dead man's jewelry was still on his person
when the body was brought here.”
“Men are murdered for other reasons than to secure
their valuables. Look here, if I bring a reputable
physician here will you allow him to perform an au-
topsy?”
“Not without the consent of my client.”
“I hope he paid you in advance,” said Greg.
The other shrugged.
“Did he give you an address?”
The other named a number far up-town.
“I’ll swear it is fictitious. Will you do me the favor
of investigating the address?”
“I am not convinced of the necessity for that.”
“But you will at least delay the shipment of the body
until I can get in communication with the dead man's
niece?”
“I intend to carry out my instructions to the letter.”
Greg perceived that the man was wholly under the
influence of the handsome fee that had been paid him.


IO2 The Owl Taxi
He felt that he was wasting his time, but he tried one
more appeal.
“But don't you see, sir, that in asking you to delay
matters I could have no possible motive except to dis-
cover the truth, while the motives of those who wish
to destroy the body so hastily are at least open to
suspicion?”
“You should go to the police,’
“That is what the police are for.”
“I can't open a vulgar newspaper sensation until I
am surer of my ground.”
The undertaker rose. “Sorry I can do nothing for
you.”
Greg tried a new line. “Look here, when you have
shipped this body, your interest in it is at an end, isn't
it?”
The other shrugged expressively. “The ashes will
be returned to me in due course. The order includes
a handsome urn for their reception.”
“A bit of stage-play,” said Greg bitterly. “It will
never be called for. If this body happened to come
back here from another direction would you accept an
order to embalm it?”
“That would hardly be ethical,” was the smug re-
ply. “Of course if the crematory cared to take the re-
sponsibility of departing from my order, you could take
it to some other embalmer.”
“Can you suggest anybody?” asked Greg slyly.
“Well, there's my son,” replied the clay-faced one
blandly. “He is just starting in business for himself.
But it's in Brooklyn.”
“That doesn't matter.”
%
was the cold reply.


The Undertaker I03
He gave an address.
“Thank you very much,” said Greg dryly. “Where
is the crematory?”
“Silver Pond, Long Island. About eighteen miles
out on the Port Franklin branch.”
“What time are you sending the body out there?”
“It leaves here about five. I understand they are
always put on the eight-fifteen train arriving at Silver
Pond about nine.”
“Is the crematory near the station?”
“Some three miles distant, I believe; in a very lonely
neighborhood.”
Greg thanked him and they parted, having reached
an excellent understanding after all.
Greg called up the Marsden Farms Hotel from a
telephone booth. Loverlike, he anticipated a melan-
choly satisfaction in telling the girl who had used him
so badly, as he told himself, how he had been working
in her behalf. He was prepared to be nobly cold and
self-sacrificing and virtuous. Unfortunately for these
fine feelings he was told by the office of the hotel that
no one of the name of de Socotra was stopping there.
Thinking perhaps they might have registered under
an assumed name, he described the ladies, but was as-
sured that no such persons had arrived during the day.
Once more jealousy, anger and rage had full sway
over him. She had purposely given him the slip, he
told himself. She had only used him the night before
for her own purposes. Very questionable purposes
they seemed now. Well, he'd be hanged if he did any
more for her! If he couldn't find her again he would


* The Owl Taxi
donate the three hundred dollars to a worthy charity.
Even while he raged against her a still small voice whis-
pered to him that the glance of her flamelike eyes had
been clear and true, but he would not have it so.
The more he told himself he would think no longer
of her, the more the mystery of her teased him. If
she were de Socotra's daughter how could she be an
American as she had so proudly asserted? And if she
were de Socotra's daughter how could she turn against
her own father even though she had discovered he was
a villain. That she was not deficient in natural af.
fection her grief on learning of her uncle's death had
shown; but Greg could not conceive of a daughter put-
ting a mere uncle above her father. And if she loved
America and Americans how could she possibly think
of allying herself to anything so essentially un-Ameri-
can as the exquisite, enervated Castilian youth with
his little head and his vacant, arrogant glance?
In the turmoil of his feelings Greg walked all the
way downtown to the taxi-yard. As he passed through
the little store Bessie told him there was a man wait-
ing to see him.
“But nobody knows me at this address,” said Greg
astonished. “Who did he ask for?”
“The driver of T7011.”
Greg went through to the yard. The man waiting
there wore the uniform of a taxi-driver of the better
class, but there was no sign of a cab.
"You want to see me?" said Greg.
The other had a naturally truculent manner. “I
don't know whether I do or not. I want the driver of
T7011.”


The Undertaker I05
“That's me.”
He scornfully looked Greg up and down. “G'wan!
You ain't one of us!”
“Sure, I am. I'm off duty now.”
“”Tain't good enough, Jack.”
“Come into the house and the woman will identify
me.”
Bessie, full of curiosity, was already at the kitchen
door. She assured the man Greg was what he claimed
to be, but the obstinate fellow having made up his
mind was not to be swayed.
“I don’t know you,” he said to Bessie. “I don't
know any of yez. It's a bad neighborhood.”
The highly incensed Bessie gave him a good piece
of her mind; this naturally only confirmed him in his
obstinacy.
“If the cab's yours where is it now?” he demanded
of Greg.
“My partner has it out.”
“Likely story! I'll wait until I see it before I be-
lieve it.”
“Suit yourself,” said Greg marching into the house
in a rage.
Fortunately for his much-tried temper it was not
long before Hickey returned. Hearing the “machine-
gun” come in, Greg went out into the yard and found
the two chauffeurs in talk.
“I can’t make out what he's driving at,” said Hickey
scratching his head.
“Let him tell me,” said Greg. “First tell him that
this is my cab.”
Hickey did so. The other driver was not in the


IO6 The Owl Taxi
least abashed. Indeed he plumed himself more than
ever on his astuteness.
“I drive for the New York Western cab service,”
he said. “They keep a sharp tab on us fellows and
the gas we use, and I couldn't get down here until I
was off duty. This morning at the Terminal three
ladies engaged me: that is they was four in the party
but one was a servant—”
Greg's heart began to beat.
“Old Spanish-looking dame and two pippins, black-
head and red-head. Say, red-head was a little queen
she was, with a little green hat and a whole grizzly
bear around her neck, I guess it was ??
“Never mind her description,” said Greg impa-
tiently. “We know her. Get ahead!”
It only had the result of delaying the story still fur-
ther. “Say, who's telling this, you or me?” burst out
the irritable one. “I ain't telling it for your pleasure
anyway, but for her that sent me. What if I do drive
a taxi-cab, when I'm off duty I'm as good a man as
any.”
"Sure!” said Greg. “You’re all right! But for
God's sake get on with your story!”
“Well, I was ordered to take them to an apartment
house on Riverside, the Stickney Arms it was, Ninety-
fourth Street, big, swell place. Half a van load of
hand-baggage they had. While it was being carried in
the young lady had a chance to speak to me private.
Says she: “Go to Bessie Bickle's taxi-yard on Gibbon
Street south of Houston ?
"When she got that far the black-haired one turned
around sudden, and we made believe to be counting the


The Undertaker IO7
bags. The old lady happened to call the black-haired
one and little red-hair had a chance to finish: “Tell the
driver of T701 1 that you brought me to this address.”
“That's all. Slipped me a couple of dollars she did,
but I would have come for nothing. A peach !”
Greg experienced a complete revulsion of feeling.
Gone were all his hard and angry thoughts. She had
sent him word; she was all right!
“Good work!” he cried. “I’ll give you another two
myself if you'll let me.”
The driver was not unwilling.
Poor Hickey, who had been looking forward to a
“second helping” at Bessie's table and a good sleep,
was turned around and bidden to drive to the Stickney
Arms for all the flivver was worth. On the way Greg
debated how to establish communications with his lit-
tle friend. What he had seen himself, and what the
chauffeur had told him, suggested that she was under
the closest surveillance, and it behooved him to be
careful in approaching her. Suddenly an idea occurred
to him that made him chuckle and slap his knee.
He had Hickey stop at a druggist's where he pur-
chased a sheet of showy note-paper and an envelope,
and on the counter indited this note:
“The young man with the blue tie noticed by the
young lady with the silver-fox furs on the steps of the
Hotel Meriden this morning desires to make her better
acquaintance. Read the personal column in the Sphere
to-morrow.”
The Stickney Arms proved to be a towering struc-
ture in what might be called the Jerry-Gothic style, the


IO8 The Owl Taxi
“Gothic” having been manufactured in a terra-cotta
kiln on Staten Island. It was, notwithstanding, a very
fine place of its kind, with a truly royal red carpet down
the sumptuous corridor from front door to elevators,
and in attendance four young Apollos wearing blue
uniforms with gold cords across their breasts. One
was to open the door, one to answer the telephone, one
to run the elevator and one just to stand around and
look ornamental.
The last boy had a peculiarly knowing look, and to
him Greg addressed himself. Before saying anything
he made a suggestive movement with his hand, to
which the boy instinctively responded. A dollar bill
changed hands like lightning. The blue-clad one as-
sumed a responsive air.
“Little girl with dark red hair,” said Greg, “black
suit, little green hat, big soft fur around her neck;
travels with two Spanish-looking ladies; do you know
her?”
The boy nodded. “Sub-let a furnished apartment on
the eighth floor. Moved in this morning.”
“What name?” asked Greg.
“Soak-oat-er, or somepin like that.”
“Slip her this,” said Greg, showing his letter. “Only
into her hands, see?”
The boy pocketed the letter. “I get you, boss.”
Greg returned to his cab in high satisfaction. He
had every reason to believe that the note would be
delivered. Trust a New York hall-boy in matters of
this kind! But even should it fall under other eyes, it
could not but put them on a false track.


The Undertaker I09
“Now for a bang-up feed,” said Greg to Hickey.
“We need it, for there's a big night's work beginning.”
“Beginning!” groaned Hickey. “I thought my work
was done!”


CHAPTER VIII
THE HOLD-UP
ICKEY took Greg to a restaurant on Third Ave-
nue that to him represented the ne plus ultra in
eating-places. It was called “Dick's" on its sign-
boards, or “Greasy Dick's" in affection by its habitués.
Whenever a restaurant gets a derisive nickname like
this you may be sure it is a good one. Within there
was a double row of mahogany tables end to against
the side walls, leaving an aisle in the middle up and
down which paraded the sociable waiters, who pub-
lished each man's order to the kitchen in the voices of
stentors. Greg and Hickey sat down together; ele-
gantly dressed young gentleman and shabby owl-driver;
and such was the democratic spirit of Dick's that none
Paid the least attention.
They ordered an extra double sirloin with onions,
the most expensive dish the bill-of-fare afforded. It
W** a treat to hear the impressiveness with which the
*der was transmitted to the kitchen. On the way to
the restaurant Greg had stopped at a stationer's to
buy a map of Long Island, and while they waited for
£meal he studied it.
44 hat's the program for to-night?” asked Hickey.
olding-up a dead-wagon,” said Greg with an en-
IIO


The Hold-up III
Hickey fell back in his seat aghast. “What!”
Greg laughed.
Hickey shrugged philosophically. “Oh well, you're
the pilot,” he said. “It's up to you. Remember I'm a
nervous man, that's all.”
With the point of a fork Greg indicated Silver Pond
on the map. “There's our mark,” said he. “We cross
the Williamsburgh bridge and leave Long Island City
by Van Buren Avenue. The rest is easy. The Crema-
tory's not marked on the map but 5 *
“What's a crematory?” interrupted Hickey. “Any-
thin like a creamery?”
“Not much like it,” said Greg. “We'll go to the
railway station and inquire from there. I suppose I
ought to have a gun ??
“Good God! what for P”
“How can you pull off a hold-up without a gun?”
“Then you mean it, a hold-up?”
“Surest thing you know.”
“Lordy! Lordy!” murmured Hickey. “What a
fellow you are! You'll have to attend to the gun-play
yourself. I’m too nervous!”
“I will. I don't mean to use it really, just flash it.
We've got a little all-steel monkey-wrench that will
give a perfect imitation of an automatic in the dark.
That will do. We must fill up the flivver with gas, put
in a quart of oil, and let down the top.”
“Why the top?” asked Hickey. “It's cold.”
“You’ll see. We have to have sixty or seventy feet
of rope too.”
“Is anybody going to be hanged?” asked Hickey
with a shiver.


II2 The Owl Taxi
“No. That's to stretch across the road.”
Replete and glowing inside, they lighted big cigars
and returned to the flivver. Having filled up with gas
and oil and bought the rope, they left town by the route
indicated. The journey to Silver Pond was without
incident. Having plenty of time they let the old flivver
roll at her natural gait along the suburban highways.
Silver Pond marked the limit of the suburbs in this di-
rection; beyond was the open country.
They reached the station at twenty minutes to nine.
The agent's office was closed, but there were several
little stores opposite including a bar. Here Greg ap-
plied for information.
“What time does the train get here that brings the
—er—bodies to the crematory?” he asked, looking as
much like a bereaved relative as he could.
“Nine-three,” was the reply. “Expectin some-
body?”—this with a sympathetic air.
Greg nodded lugubriously, and the bar-tender shook
his head in sympathetic unison. “What'll you have?”
he asked, suggesting that therein lay the cure for all
WOCS.
“Rye high-ball,” said Greg “Do they send the
bodies right out to the crematory to-night?”
“Sure. When they're notified there's anybody com-
ing the motor-truck meets the train. He'll be along
any minute now.”
“Oh well, I'll drive on to the crematory and wait
for brother there,” said Greg.
However, he took time to sip his drink, for he
wished to have a look at the motor truck in order to
be sure of identifying it on the return trip. In the


The Hold-up II3
course of a few minutes it drew up at the station oppo-
site, and Greg marked it, a covered van of the style
ordinarily used by undertakers, abounding with black-
enameled trappings of woe. Greg observed that for
its duty on the night roads it carried a search-light over
the driver's head. This would effectually serve to dis-
tinguish it from other cars.
The bar-tender came to the door and pointed out
the road they should take. “Three miles,” he said;
“follow the macadam and the telephone poles. You
can't miss it. It's their own road that they built. No-
body wants to live down that way.”
In order to avoid exciting remark Greg got in the
body of the cab, and they started. As soon as they
were out of sight of the saloon, he swung himself
around the running board to the seat beside Hickey.
“The train is due in fifteen minutes, supposing it's
on time,” he said. “Give him five minutes to load up,
that's twenty minutes' start we have. Time to run
all the way out to the crematory, choose the best spot
along the road and come back to it.”
“I like this job less and less,” said Hickey with feel-
ing. “I’m a nervous man.”
“I’ll play the heavy villain's part,” said Greg calmly.
“You only have to be property man.”
“Suppose there's two of them?”
“There was only one on the driver's seat just now.”
“He might have a friend coming out on the train.”
“Sure, and he might have a hand grenade in each
pocket.”
“Oh, Lor'!” said Hickey, taking it quite seriously.
It was a clear night, moderately cold, and the moon


II4 The Owl Taxi
was shining. This was fortunate for them, since the
old flivver, designed exclusively for street travel, car-
ried no headlights. By the light of the moon Greg
searched the roadsides for the spot best suited to his
purpose. For that matter one place was about as
good as another along that lonely road. They passed
no houses. Two hundred yards from the station they
plunged into the woods, and continued through woods
the most part of the way. What fields they passed
were evidently the back fields of farms that fronted
on other roads. The road was smooth, level, and
with but few turns in it.
In a few minutes a cleared hollow or vale opened up
before them with the crematory buildings grouped
around a pond gleaming wanly in the moonlight. The
surroundings were laid out like a park. The main
building with its tall slender chimney had the look of
a power house or a pumping-station; but knowing what
it was, this chimney had a gruesome fascination of its
OWn. -.
“All that is mortal of many a man has gone up that
stack,” said Greg.
Hickey shuddered. “I’ll take the worms for mine,”
said he.
“Back again now,” said Greg. “I have the spot in
mind.”
About half way back Greg ordered Hickey to stop.
“That tall tree ahead on the right. Draw up in the
shadow beneath it. There's a bend in the road a hun-
dred yards ahead. Far enough to give him time to
stop, but not far enough to give him the tip to turn
back.”


The Hold-up II5
“I don't like this job,” wailed Hickey, for perhaps
the dozenth time. His teeth were chattering.
Greg, who was not exactly an experienced highway-
man himself, felt a little shaky and dry in the mouth,
but if he had let Hickey see that the driver would
surely have collapsed. Greg maintained the assump-
tion of perfect calm.
“You have nothing to worry about,” said he. “If
anything goes wrong you were simply hired by me to
bring you out here. You had never seen me before.
And when we got here I forced you to do my bidding
at the point of a pistol, see?”
“Suppose the driver has a gun?”
“Mine will be out first.”
“But yours is only a monkey-wrench.”
“He won't know that.”
“But—”
“Look here, you're wasting time. Put out your side-
lights, take the tail light off your car, and then come
help me stretch this rope across the road.”
They got the rope ready between tree and tree, and
then let it lie in the road in case another car came along
before the one they wished to stop. Greg tied a
handkerchief in the middle of the rope to make sure
it would not escape the driver's attention. He had
the red tail light ready as a further summons to stop.
“That clothes line won't hold him up no more than
a cotton thread if he wants to drive her through,” ob-
jected Hickey.
“He won’t know but what it's a steel cable.”
“I don't like this job.”
Greg made haste to keep him busy. “Cover your


II6 The Owl Taxi
radiator, and let the lap-robe hang down over the
license number. Tie a rag over the rear license-plate.
Let down the front window. Detach the meter and
lay it on the floor.”
“What's that for?” -
“It'll be in our passenger's way on the ride home,”
said Greg grimly.
For nearly a minute before it hove in view they
heard the approach of the crematory car through the
night. He was driving her hard.
“It's a six,” said Greg listening with a professional
ear. “He’s got a bum spark plug. She's running on
five legs.”
“I’m not the man for this job,” moaned Hickey.
“I’m sick!”
“Hide yourself behind the flivver. I'll call you when
you're wanted.”
Hickey obeyed this order with alacrity.
Finally the rays of the searchlight showed around
the bend ahead, jigging up and down with the move-
ment of the car. To Greg it seemed as if she would
never turn the corner. His heart was beating like a
pneumatic hammer. He clenched his hands to keep
them from trembling. He had the dummy pistol in
One.
Meanwhile rope, handkerchief and red light were in
place. Finally the dazzling white light swung around
the corner and illumined them. Power was shut off.
The great car came to a stop with the scrape of locked
wheels on macadam. Greg stepped out of the shadow.
He had turned up his collar and pulled down his hat-
brim in the time-honored style.


The Hold-up II7
“Get down from your seat,” he commanded.
It appeared he had a cool customer to deal with.
“Sure, Mike!” was the undisturbed reply. The man
jumped down.
“Hands up!” said Greg.
He was obeyed. At the same time the cool voice
said: “Sorry, old man, but you've stuck up the wrong
train. I ain't carrying no consignment of gold this
trip. Thirty-four cents, a pocket knife with a blade
missing and a dollar watch, that's the lot. You're
welcome to it for the experience.”
Greg grinned in return. This was a victim after his
own heart. “Much obliged,” he answered, matching
the other's tone. “Keep the change. This hold-up
isn't meant for you personally.”
“What is it then?”
“I just want to give your passenger a transfer.”
“Gee! A stiff l I suppose you're one of these here
now medical students then.”
“If you like.”
“I didn’t think they was so hard-pushed for stiffs
nowadays. Well, take your choice. A stiff more or
less is nothing to me. We get hardened to 'em in this
business.”
Greg ordered Hickey to start his engine. “Run her
into the road,” he said, “and back her up to Charon's
boat.”
While Hickey was performing this evolution Greg
and the crematory driver continued to converse ami-
cably.
“Is the door locked?” asked Greg.
By way of answer the other threw the doors open.


II8 The Owl Taxi
Two pine boxes of significant shape were revealed one
above the other.
“Take your choice,” said the driver.
“Did you read the labels before you loaded them
in?” asked Greg. “I want the one marked Alfieri.”
“Oh, the dago. He's on the bottom. He's the
heaviest.”
“Have a cigar,” said Greg. “Have a couple.”
“Much obliged, Jack. Certainly square of you.
Wouldn't mind being stuck up any night if they was
all like you. Life is slow in this neck of the woods.”
They lit up and puffed comfortably together.
“Sorry I'll have to report my loss as soon as I get
in,” said the driver. “You see the station agent helped
me to load up and he's a cranky cuss, not a regular guy
like you and me. What's a stiff more or less to a rea-
sonable man! But you see the relatives kick up such
a dust.”
“That's all right,” said Greg. “We have to take
our chances of course.”
“Tell you what I'll do though. I'll give you five
minutes or so before I drive on.”
“Thanks, that'll help.”
By this time Hickey had his car in place. They ran
out the lower of the two pine boxes; with his flash
Greg made sure that it was the one they wanted; then
they hoisted it over the lowered top of the flivver. The
driver helped right willingly. When they got the box
in place one end rested on top of the back seat and
the other end stuck through the front window. When
they put up the top of the car, only the front end of


The Hold-up II9
the box showed, and this they rendered less conspicu-
ous by draping it with the black lap-robe.
“You’ll have to lean forward to see around the
end,” said Greg to Hickey. “I’ll ride behind.”
They screwed on the tail light, gathered up the rope
and all was ready for the start.
“Well, so long, fellows,” said the crematory driver.
As soon as they started Hickey's spirits rebounded,
and he began to brag quaintly. “Say, that guy was
polite all right. He had to be! I was watching him.
One ugly move on his part and I’d a dropped on him
like a load of brick.”
“Oh, you're a dare-devil all right,” said Greg dryly.
Hickey subsided.
At the Silver Pond station they took the main road
from Long Island City by which they had come, but
beyond the village they took the first side road to the
left, and aided by the map made their way cross coun-
try by various unfrequented roads to one of the high-
ways leading to Brooklyn.
“It's a good thing the undertaker's in Brooklyn,”
said Greg. “They'll probably telephone in and have
the bridges and ferries watched.”
“They'll trace us to-morrow,” said Hickey ner-
vously. *
“I doubt if anybody will be sufficiently interested.
The crematory will report to the undertaker; the un-
dertaker will endeavor to communicate with his client,
and will find that he gave a fictitious address. The
matter will go no further. De Socotra's gang is not
likely to learn that we have the body until we tell them
ourselves.”


I2O The Owl Taxi
Reaching the outskirts of town they chose the less
frequented streets. Concealed though it was, that
square-ended box was of a curiously suggestive size
and shape, and both chauffeur and passenger were ner-
vous. However no one seemed to notice them; or if
they did, the cab had passed out of reach before ac-
tion could be taken. One suspects that taxi-cabs
often race through the streets at night with queer
burdens.
The address given them was in one of the more im-
portant streets of the Park Slope district away on the
other side of the borough. A garage was maintained
in connection, and it was with fervent relief that they
rolled inside and the door was closed behind them.
They were received by a younger replica of the clayey-
faced man, who exhibited a studied imitation of his
father's professional manner. Everything was made
easy for them here: though nothing was said about it,
they were evidently expected. But it cost Greg a pretty
penny.
They returned to New York. At the bridge en-
trance they were stopped, and a policeman stuck his
head inside the cab. But there was nothing in the
least suspicious about the fashionable young gentleman
riding there, and the officer apologized. He declined
to state what he was looking for. Perhaps he was
afraid of ridicule.
Greg had Hickey drive him to the office of the
Sphere newspaper where, in plenty of time for the
morning edition, he inserted two advertisements in
the personal column. The first read:


The Hold-up I2I
“Boy:
Pick T701 1 to win. Look in the place you know of.
Greg.”
These few simple words were the result of a long
process of selection and elimination on the way back
to town. Greg assured himself that the girl would
understand, but that no one else in the world could.
The second advertisement read:
“Red Head:
Meet me Southwest corner Twenty-third and Fifth
Ten A. M.
Green Tie.”
This of course was merely camouflage for the bene-
fit of any one who might have intercepted the note
that Greg had sent up at the Stickney Arms.
“Home, James,” said Greg to Hickey. “We'll cele-
brate our success by treating ourselves to a whole
night's sleep.”
“Thank God for that,” said Hickey. “I’m ready
for it.”


The Flivver as a Post-office I23
both of the other women are with her, point down as
you pass and keep on to wherever they wish you to
take them. Don't forget now; point up for good news
and stop; point down for bad news and keep on.”
“I get you.”
“One thing more. Supposing the ladies come out
together and you are engaged to take them on a shop-
ping expedition or anything like that, when they are
through with you, charge them bargain rates, see? Give
them a discount of twenty per cent off the legal fare.
Tell them it's because you're trying to work up a reg-
ular trade and you hope they'll engage you again. If
we can only get them to hire you every day in advance,
it will establish first-rate communications.”
“I'm on,” said Hickey.
Greg rode up-town with him as far as the Soldiers
and Sailors monument. On the way he scribbled a note
worded in such a way that none but the one it was
intended for would be able to make sense of it. In
it he told the girl he had secured the body as she had
desired, and asked for further instructions. He was
very cold and formal, hoping that she might be led to
ask the reason when she replied. He tucked this note
behind the seat in the spot where he had found the
diamond pin.
Concealed behind the bushes that grow around the
base of the monument, Greg was obliged to wait more
than an hour for Hickey's return. When he finally
made out the flivver pursuing its lopsided way down
the drive, Hickey was pointing down, and Greg's heart
went down in unison. Of those inside as they passed,
Greg had only a glimpse of the brilliant Señorita


I24 The Owl Taxi
Guitterez who was sitting on the little seat facing back.
Greg walked aimlessly down the Drive, a prey to heavy
doubts and anxieties. Suppose that after all there
was an understanding between the other girl and the
deceitful Bianca: suppose they had shared his note and
were even now laughing over it. That this was in-
consistent with the facts as he knew them, had no ef-
fect on Greg at the moment. He was jealous, and
incapable of reasoning clearly.
Meanwhile time hung heavy on his hands, and once
more he walked half the length of the town. It was
impossible for him to put his mind to anything else
until his doubts were resolved.
Hickey returned to the yard at one. Before ex-
changing a word with him, Greg flung open the door
of the cab, and thrust his hand behind the back seat.
His fingers met with a folded paper that he drew out
with burning eagerness. His first feeling on beholding
it was one of blank disappointment for it seemed to be
his own note. But upon opening it he saw that while
it was his own note, she had written an answer on the
back. His eyes flew over the microscopic lines.
“My friend:
“I am writing this in the rest room of a department
store, having given my jailer the slip for a moment.
It must be brief. Bianca watches me by his orders I
suppose: I cannot imagine what has made them sud-
denly suspicious of me. She tries to keep me from
guessing that she watches; a pretty comedy! I will
explain more fully when I see you. For I must see
you. It is impossible for me to plan anything by let-
ter. There is one thing that ought to be done; de
Socotra should be watched. Find a reliable man to


The Flivver as a Post-office 125
do it if you can. You will be needed for other things.
We haven't seen him for the last two days, but he
telephoned mamma that he'd be at the office of the
Managuayan consul—East Thirty-sixth Street at three
to-day, if she wanted to call him up. He could be
picked up there.
“Ah, my friend, I was so glad to get your good
letter! How ever can I thank you! How clever you
are! I laughed at your stratagems in the midst of my
anxieties. How nice you looked yesterday morning,
and what a blessed relief to see you unharmed ! I
burn to hear all that has happened. Trust me, I will
find a way. 99
"Amy.
A great, glad reaction took place in Greg's breast.
The pale December sun suddenly shone with the
warmth of June, and the dingy, muddy yard seemed
transfigured. As for Hickey, he could have hugged
him. She trusted him! called him friend! gave him
her own name! Amy! how sweet and how absolutely
fitting! Nothing foreign about Amy!
But a lover is never satisfied for long. Hard upon
his first warmth a little chill struck through his breast.
Friendship was all very well in its way, but he wanted
more than that. He thought of the supercilious Cas-
tilian, and writhed. Did he get more? He was aware
of the fact that a girl feeling herself safely anchored
to one man becomes free of her “friendship” to others.
If she ever intended to give more perhaps she would
not so readily have given so much!
He was recalled to himself by the sight of Hickey's
sly grin. Evidently he was giving everything away in


I26 The Owl Taxi
his face. Frowning portentously he asked very offhand
what had happened.
“Nothing,” said Hickey. “I done just what you
said. The three ladies come out of the apartment
house together. I carried 'em from one store to an-
other shopping. I caught the little girl looking at me
funny-like once or twice, but I never let anything on.
When I took 'em back home, I knocked off twenty per
cent as you said, and the old lady fell for it like a baby.
She engaged me to call for 'em again at two thirty to
take them to a concert at Harmony Hall.”
“Good!” said Greg. “I’ll write an answer to this
while you're eating. Get a good dinner, Hickey.”
Hickey grinned slyly, and gave the windshield a
wipe. As Greg walked away he murmured to himself:
“Cupid's messenger, that's me!”
Greg sat at his table biting his pen. It was not
that he had nothing to say but too much. His heart
was charged with enough matter to fill a quire—but
there was that damned Castilian | He dared not let
himself go until the other was explained. He made a
mighty effort to be merely friendly as she had been
—warmer feelings only broke through once or twice as
will be seen.
“Certainly we must meet. It is too dangerous to
commit things to paper. But I know so little of the
circumstances surrounding you that I must leave the
arrangements to you. All I can say is, rely on me
absolutely—for anything. How weak that sounds!
Please don't thank me. What I have done is nothing.
It was just an adventure. I shall not be satisfied until
you make some real demands on me. I am making


The Flivver as a Post-office I27
friends for us. In case of need you can depend on the
driver. Why do you stay where you are if you are
surrounded by enemies? I have read your letter a
dozen times already, trying to guess what is hidden
between the lines. Not what I’d like to find there,
I'm afraid. Please don't insist so hard on my being
your friend. It makes me savage. Find some way
to let me see you. This uncertainty is horrible. I
can do nothing but walk the streets. I will see that
a certain party is watched. I hope you wrote to me
during lunch time, but I don't suppose you did. I
will look while the concert is going on.
“Greg.”
It must not be supposed that this was arrived at in
a single draft. Greg was still writing when Hickey
called up to him that it was time to start, whereupon he
finished in a hurry and carried it down to its hiding-
place. To Hickey he said:
“I suppose they'll want you to carry them home
from the concert. While it's going on you can hang
around and pick up any business that offers. But first
of all after you have dropped them at the hall meet
me at the corner of Sixth and Forty-third so that I
can see if she left anything for me on the way down.”
Hickey drove out of the yard with the sly grin
that provoked Greg, or half provoked him, for at the
same time he was well assured that he was faithfully
served in Hickey.
Greg looked around the taxi-yard. Three of the
cabs were in, the owners presumably sleeping inside.
Greg peeped through the windows considering which
one would best suit his purpose; the morose Blossom,
honest, thick-witted Bull Tandy, or old Pa Simmons.


I28 The Owl Taxi
He decided on the latter; Pa Simmons, red and white
as a snow-apple, was so indubitably the cabman, no
one would ever suspect him of acting in another ca-
pacity. Pa Simmons was never seen without his cab-
man's overcoat; he seemed atrophied from the waist
down, and one guessed that he had not walked more
than a hundred yards at a time in thirty years. In
imagination he still dwelt fondly on the days when
he had driven a gentleman's private hansom; now his
vehicle was an antique Pack-Arrow that still retained
a faded air of luxury in its dim enamel and worn up-
holstery.
At Greg's summons Pa Simmons sprang up blinking
rapidly, on the alert for a fare. There was something
at once plucky, piteous and comical in his assumption
of youthful sprightliness. His face fell at the sight
of Greg, for he suspected a practical joke. Yet he and
all the cabmen liked Greg for his unaffected friendly
ways. All knew by now that Greg was involved in a
fascinating mystery.
“Will you take a job for me, Pa?” asked Greg.
“On the level?” asked Pa Simmons warily.
“Dead level. By the day, with gasoline and all ex-
penses. I want you to do a little detective work.”
Pa Simmons' blue eyes brightened. “I'm your man!
I allus said I'd make a A1 sleuth. Lay the matter
open to me. It'll be a pleasant change not to be look-
ing for fares for a few days.”
An arrangement was quickly effected, and Pa Sim-
mons, armed with a careful description of de Socotra,
was dispatched to the address on Thirty-sixth Street.
Half an hour later Greg was impatiently waiting at


The Flivver as a Post-office I29
the corner of Sixth Avenue and Forty-third Street.
Down the block he could see the cabs driving up to
Harmony Hall, and the two streams of pedestrians
converging at the door. As he waited he took out his
note-book and wrote:
“There's nothing special to say since morning except
that I have put a reliable man on you know whose
trail. But I thought you might like to have a greeting
on your way home from the concert, and the real
reason is that it's such a pleasure to write to you that
I can't help myself anyway. I'm waiting on the cor-
ner for Hickey (your driver) to see if there is any-
thing for me tucked behind the seat. Of course it is
scarcely possible you had a chance to write while you
were home to lunch, but I shall be disappointed just
the same if there is nothing there. Queer kind of
post-office, isn't it? Here he is ??
Hickey drew up beside him with his grin. But he
might grin as hard as he liked for all Greg cared if
there was a note there. His eager fingers did indeed
meet with a little folded square of paper and he drew
it out beaming.
Hickey remarked: “I guess it takes some managing
for her always to get that same seat when they go
out.”
Greg read:
“I have to be as quick and sly as a rat with my little
pad of paper that I keep inside my dress and pull out
when I get a few seconds alone, and whisk out of
sight again when I hear anybody coming. So excuse
me if I sound scrappy. We are dressing for the con-
cert.' I suppose I ought to wait until I hear from
you before writing again, but I have had an idea and


I30 The Owl Taxi
I can't keep it to myself. There is a young man in
Managuay who used to be my dear uncle's assistant
or secretary and is, I am sure, his devoted friend.
He must know all the circumstances leading up to this
dreadful situation. We ought to have him here. His
name is Mario Estuban; his address 37 Calle Pizarro,
Santiago de Managuay. Please cable him and ask if
he can come at once, expenses paid. If he answers
yes I'll give you the money to be forwarded by cable.
He is poor. Mamma calls that it is time to go. First
thing as we seat ourselves in the cab I shall slyly slide
my hand behind me. I shall be so sad if there is
nothing there, but I am sure there will be.
“Amy.”
Upon reading this Greg finished his own note:
“I have just read yours written as you started for
the concert. It makes me happy. Why? because you
feel about these notes the same as I do—only not so
much. At least you say you do. . Girls have the privi-
lege of keeping their real thoughts to themselves. I
wish I knew yours. I'm on my way to send the cable-
gram.
“Greg.”
Hickey went on to pick up a dollar or two for the
firm if he could, while Greg wended his way to the
cable office. He smiled to himself thinking of the im-
perious little lady who so coolly commanded a man
from Central America to come to her aid.
At six o'clock Greg and Hickey met in the yard.
Once more Greg, telling himself there could not be a
letter for him,-how could she have written during
the concert?—nevertheless felt for it, and lo! the little
folded square was there, fatter than the others.


The Flivver as a Post-office I31
“Dear Greg:
(It was the first time she had used his name; he
had not dared write hers.) “Isn't there an old say-
ing to the effect that in boldness there is safety? If
there isn't, there ought to be. I am sitting right out
in the open theatre writing to you, and I mean to take
my time and say all I want. Mamma sits between me
and Bianca, so that the latter cannot read what I am
writing. Her efforts to do so, while making believe
not to, are too funny! Does she think I am a com-
plete idiot? I write small to tantalize her. Finally,
unable to bear it any longer she asks with an innocent
air to whom am I writing? I reply with an air no
less innocent: to Clorinda. Clo-clo is my chum in
Managuay. Bianca then says with gentle reproach:
“But you know, dear (she dears me with every breath,
the crocodile !), “Francisco asked us not to write home
during this trip because it was necessary to his business
that £ should not know for the present where we
were.” reply: “I’ll show it to Francisco when we
see him, and if he disapproves I'll tear it up. Of
course I'll contrive to have another letter ready to
show him.
“I am not enjoying the concert any the less because
I am writing to you. The orchestra is playing the
Romeo and Juliet overture—Tschaikowsky's, and de-
licious chills are running up and down my spine. The
nicest thing about music is that one doesn't have to
think about it while it plays. One may think what
one pleases and the music glorifies one's little thoughts.
I feel now as if I were an elf swinging to one of the
prisms of the chandelier under the ceiling. Did you
ever feel like that? I wonder if things will ever ar-
range themselves so that you and I can go to a concert
together like regular friends. But I forgot—for some
reason you do not want to be friends. I do not under-
stand that part of your letter. It grieves me.


I32 The Owl Taxi
“I must tell you I have made a plan for us to meet
to-night—we need not meet as friends, but just to talk
business. Our maid Nina is devoted to me, and I can
depend on her absolutely. ... Fortunately it happens to
be the custom in our family that each one's room is
his castle. We lock our doors when we retire, and
no one thinks of disturbing another except in case of
necessity. Well, when everybody is safe in bed I shall
dress myself in some of Nina's clothes—since my
former disguise seemed to shock you so terribly, and
Nina will let me out by the service entrance. There
is a separate servant's stairway and elevator in this
building. And she will let me in again when I come
home. Let the driver be waiting for me in Ninety-
fourth Street, say, at eleven, for we go to bed early.
Don't you come yourself, the risk is too great. I par-
ticularly forbid you to come. Arrange a suitable place
for us to meet, and we will decide what must be done.
“Silly! the reason I stay where I am is very simple;
I have no other place to go. Mamma is the only
friend I have in America barring yourself... I am not
at all prudish, but I couldn't very well—well, could I?
“They are playing D'Apt's Midi d'un Faun now.
‘Your rejected friend,
“Amy.”


I34 The Owl Taxi
suit.” In the center of the room stood a marble-topped
table with wonderfully curly legs, and upon it there
was a plush album, and two piles of “gift-books” placed
criss-cross. On the mantel-piece was an imitation onyx
clock flanked by a superb pair of near-bronze Vikings
with battle-axes which you could take out of their
hands if you wished.
Over the mantel hung a crayon portrait of Bessie's
second husband, the late Mr. Bickle, fresh from the
barber's. He occupied the place of honor presumably
because he was the more recent. He was faced from
across the room by Mr. Daniel Creavy, his prede-
cessor. Mr. Creavy was cross-eyed and the crayon
artist, evidently a grim realist, had disdained to modify
his squint by a jot. There were several other pictures
colored and representing sentimental situations en-
titled: “Parted,” “The Tiff,” and “The Green-eyed
Monster.”
As the time drew near when Hickey might be sup-
posed to return with his passenger, Greg and Bessie
waited in the parlor. Bessie in a stiff, rustling black
taffeta was magnificent and very high-toned indeed.
She had adopted a manner to match, and sat in awful
silence with her hands in her lap, while Greg fidgeted.
He found himself endlessly computing the number of
yards that had gone to make that voluminous costume.
The Word had gone round the yard below that Greg's
friend, the little South American Princess (as reported
by Hickey), was coming that night, and one by one
they all found some excuse for dropping in on the
chance of seeing her: Bull Tandy, Blossom, Ginger
McAfee; only Pa Simmons was missing.


Amy's Story I35
They heard the machine-gun when she first turned
the corner from Houston Street, and Greg sprang
down the stairs. Hickey had been instructed to bring
his passenger to the front door of course. Bessie waited
in monumental dignity at the top of the stairs. When
Amy alighted from the flivver Greg, had he not known
it must be she, must have looked twice before recog-
nizing her. In her comical tight little jacket and elab-
orate cheap hat she was the belle of the service entrance
to the life. Amy, it appeared, was an incorrigible co-
médienne; though there was no need for her to play
her part just then, she could not help bridling, ogling
and flirting her skirts like the coquette of below stairs.
Greg chuckled and Hickey roared.
But by the time she reached the head of the stairs
she had sobered down. From Bessie's imposing port
she gathered, no doubt, that the landlady was not a
person to be trifled with. Her abrupt transition to
demureness caused Greg a fresh chuckle.
When she removed the absurd hat and jacket she
put off the parlormaid for good. In her simple dress
she was her own exquisite little self. Bessie, in the
presence of one even surer of herself than Bessie was,
became a little uneasy, and it was Amy's turn then to
put Bessie at her ease. As for Greg he could not look
at her enough. It was the first time he had seen her
glorious hair uncovered. It was the color of bright
copper, of a certain glowing variety of chrysanthemum,
of a horse chestnut fresh out of its burr. It was the
sort of hair, full of light, that does itself; any old twist
creates the effect of a coiffure.
Greg gazed in a sort of delighted despair. He


I36 The Owl Taxi
thought: “She is ever so much more charming than I
supposed. She's a new woman every five minutes; a
dozen women in one! What man could ever hope to
tie her down. She would always elude him like a pixie.
She's too charming; a man would have no chance
against her. God help the man that she enslaves; she'll
keep him jumping through hoops!”
Meanwhile Bessie and Amy were doing the polite.
“It's an honor to welcome you to my poor home,
Miss de Soak-oater,” said the former grandly.
“Miss Wilmot,” corrected Amy.
Bessie looked surprised. “But Mr. Parr said
“I know, that's part of my story. I'll tell you di-
rectly. What a charming room you have, Mrs. Bickle.
So cozy and characteristic!”
After that Bessie was hers. “Well, I aim to keep
one nice room,” she said complacently, “though I live
in a street where niceness is hardly looked for.”
“What must you think of me appearing from no-
where?” said Amy.
“Mr. Parr has told me about you. It is a strange
story.”
“But he only knows a little of it. I have come to
tell you the whole.”
“Wait a minute,” interrupted Greg. “The fellows
are down-stairs. They sacrificed half their earnings
to-night on the chance of seeing you. Do you mind if
I bring them up for a moment?”
“By all means bring them up !” said Amy.
When Greg went to call them Bessie with an apology
disappeared for a moment, returning with a strip of
linoleum which she put down near the door.
* *


Amy's Story I37
“There's a mud-hole in the yard,” said she.
The four men—for of course Hickey came with
them—filed into the room in their shabby overcoats,
caps in hand. A threatening look in Bessie's eyes
warned them not to step off the linoleum. It was hardly
big enough to hold them all. They were almost over-
come. Though they carried such young ladies in their
cabs as a matter of course, to be personally introduced
to one of them was another matter. They could
scarcely lift their eyes to hers; their voices died away
in their throats. There was nothing of the pixie about
Amy now. Towards these dumb souls she exhibited
an angelic kindliness.
“You're Hickey,” she said to the first in line. “Of
course I feel as if I knew you quite well already, but
I'm glad to have the chance of speaking to you.”
“This is Bull Tandy,” said Greg indicating the next.
“William Tandy,” corrected that individual acutely
distressed.
“Oh, I like Bull much better,” said Amy quickly.
“There's something so strong and steady about it.”
“This is Ginger McAfee,” said Greg.
“Another nickname! And a good one! You look
gingery!”
The delighted Ginger could only grin and wag his
head from side to side like an imbecile school-boy.
“Blossom,” said Greg coming to the end. “Nobody
knows his other name.”
“Billups,” said Blossom in a voice so sepulchral they
all had to laugh, and their embarrassment was much
relieved.
“How do you do, Mr. Billups,” said Amy. “Don’t


I38 The Owl Taxi
mind if we laugh at your name. We like you none
the less for it.”
“You have another friend here, Pa Simmons,” said
Greg. “He’s away on your job to-night. You'll have
to meet him another time.”
At this point Bessie coughed as a hint that it was
time for the men to go. But Ginger McAfee stepped
forward to the extreme edge of the linoleum and
cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, Miss,” said he, “but us fellows made
up something we wanted to say to you, and they picked
on me to put it over, because they said I got the tongue
of a ready speaker. But it ain't much to say. It's just
this. Without wishing to pry into your private affairs
at all we heard that you was up against it like. I mean
that you had undertaken the job of putting a gang of
crooks where they belong. Well, what we want to
say is, if we could help we'd jump at the chance, that's
all. If you need a man or a gang to back you up, try
us. Us and our boats is yours to command!”
Amy was touched. Her eyes were misty as she re-
plied simply: “Thank you, Ginger, and all of you.
It's sweet to find friends. I shan't forget you.”
After they had filed out Amy sat down on the green
sofa and started her tale.
“My real name is Amy Wilmot. My father, Ger-
ald Wilmot, was United States minister to Managuay.
Managuay, as you know, is a small Central American
republic. During my father's term of office there he
married a Managuayan lady, Emilia Bareda, and I
was their only child. My mother died while I was
still an infant. My father brought me up with the
*


Amy's Story I39
assistance of a succession of servants more or less in-
efficient. Of course I was very badly brought up, but
I was happy.
“My father was a generous, frank and liberal-
minded man, and all the men in Managuay like him
were attracted to our house. Young as I was I can
still remember the good talk around our table—espe-
cially since I have begun to try to think for myself.
My uncle Tony, Antonio Bareda, was such a man as
my father, and they were the closest of friends. Uncle
Tony was continually at our house. He understood
children and I idolized him.
“Well, the climate of Managuay is an unhealthy one
except for natives, and when I was eleven years old a
fever carried off my kind, wise father. I was too young
of course to realize what his loss meant to me. Of
course I grieved as children grieve, but like a child I
soon adapted myself to my new surroundings.
“These were very different from what I had known
up to that time. Since my father had no near relatives,
I was adopted by my mother's cousin, Señora de So-
cotra, who taught me to call her mamma. She is a
dear kind soul too, and I love her dearly. The only
thing I have against her is that she gave me a Spanish
name, while I was still too young to realize what I
was giving up. She called me Amélie de Socotra, by
which name of course I have always been known. But
I mean to take my own name back now.
“Mamma is devotedly attached to her husband, and
actually after living with him for twenty years has
no idea but that he is a model of all the virtues. But
she is simplicity itself. I have noticed since I have


I40 The Owl Taxi
become suspicious of him myself that Mamma will be-
lieve any tale, however wild, that he tells her. It is
his discovery that I am not so gullible that has made
him suddenly suspicious of me.
“For some reason I never could bring myself to
call him “father. He encouraged me to call him Fran-
cisco, and I have always done so. He has invariably
been kind to me in his casual, offhand way, which is
not the same of course as a real affection. I always
acted towards him as my instinct told me he wished me
to act, that is to say, the amusing child, the plaything
for idle hours. He was the master, the source of all
good things. If anybody had asked me if I loved him,
I suppose I would have said yes, but I can see now that
I never did, though I saw nothing but his charming,
good-humored, amusing side.
“The de Socotras are of the old Spanish stock, very
prominent in Managuay; and in addition Francisco has
made a great fortune to revive the ancient glories of
his house. How he made it I don't know. I am
ashamed to confess my ignorance of the practical side
of life. While Francisco is always deep in affairs he
has no regular, visible business like other men. He
has no office. He never appears to do any work, but
just 'confers with men of all kinds. It has something
to do with politics.
“But there is no doubt about the reality of the for-
tune. He was rich before I went to live with them.
We live in grand style at home. I remember how
grand it seemed to me when first I went to them.
Later of course I learned to take everything for
granted, and came to think that it was the only way


Amy's Story I4I
for nice people to live. We have a fine house in San-
tiago and a magnificent country place among the hills.
I had horses to ride, automobiles, jewels, troops of
servants who looked up to me as a superior being.
We went to Havana every year, or to Paris if Mamma
felt equal to the trip, and bought more clothes than we
could ever wear.
“It is small wonder that a girl should be spoiled by
a life like this. Half-grown girls are fatally impres-
sionable. I completely forgot the saner, healthier ideas
I had been taught in the beginning, and soon began to
look upon myself as one of the chosen ones of earth,
responsible only to God who looked with great len-
iency on the faults of one like me. Life was very busy
and pleasant. Everything helped one not to think. I
imbibed the idea that it spoiled a woman's looks to
think. So I just frivoled.
“I was a good deal freer than the other Managuayan
girls and I got the name of being very daring. Much
was excused me because I was half-American. I was
the one who got up the private theatricals and took
the boys’ parts myself. The old ladies talked with
bated breath of how I rode and hunted in knicker-
bockers. I loved to shock them. You do not know
our Spanish dowagers. They acted on me like a per-
petual dare.
“I never saw my dear Uncle Tony after I went to
live with the de Socotras. I missed him at first, but
it was delicately intimated to me that he was really not
one of us, and after awhile I believed it. Little girls
are natural snobs. When I grew up I began to under-
stand that Francisco and Uncle Tony were on opposite


Amy's Story I43
forgot that I considered myself on the other side from
him; I remembered only the days when he had taken
me on his knee and recited funny rhymes about the
King of the Cannibal Islands. I ran to him as fast
as I could go.
“The Jardin des Plantes was Francisco's private bo-
tanical gardens, planned after the famous gardens in
Martinique. It occupied a great stretch of level ground
at the foot of the hill on which the house was built.
Trees, shrubs and flowers from every quarter of the
earth were growing there. The banyan tree is famous
in Managuay. It is far from the house, but near the
public road on the other side. It made a little natural
arbor all to itself, and there was a stone bench under
it, on which I found my Uncle Tony sitting. I won-
dered who had steered him to the spot.
“He looked so sad and kind and patient, and he
was not at all fashionably dressed, that my heart went
right out to him; the selfish, self-indulgent years slipped
away and I felt like a child again. He won me before
he said a word. He kissed me on the forehead as he
used to do, and said smiling:
“‘Is it very wrong for a gentleman to ask for a
secret meeting with a young lady if he is sixty-four
years old, and she his niece? If I had gone to the
house I should not have been admitted.”
“‘But how did you get here? I asked. ‘How did
you get hold of Nina?”
“‘Her brother is a friend of mine. I sent a note to
her through him.”
“Every word of that talk is engraved on my mind.
“Sit down beside me, he said. “Let me look at you.


I44 The Owl Taxi
How beautiful you are !' He said that you know; I
merely repeat his words. “And quite the glass of
fashion, the mold of form! What have they taught
you, my child, except how to dress well?"
“When he asked me that I suddenly seemed inex-
pressibly ignorant to myself. “Why—why, nothing
much, I guess,' I stammered. He smiled such a dear
smile. ‘Oh, well, if you feel that you know nothing
there is still hope for you.’
“‘I suppose you wonder what my errand is, he
went on, and now that I am here I scarcely know how
to tell you. It was an impulse of the heart. I felt
somehow as if my heart could not rest unless I saw you
before I went away.”
“‘You are going away!' I cried, already experienc-
ing the sinking sensation that one feels at the prospect
of losing an old friend. They are driving you away!"
I added, thinking of Francisco.
“He smiled a different kind of smile. ‘No, they are
not driving me away. I go for Managuay.”
“‘Where?”
“‘To the United States. I sail on the Allianca to-
morrow. It is a dangerous errand from which I may
not return.'
“‘Dangerous! I cried like the foolish child I was,
“but there's no danger nowadays!’
“He smiled and answered with another question.
“Do you know anything about me? what I stand for?
what de Socotra stands for?”
“‘No,' I said, “Francisco only abuses you. He tells
us nothing.’
“My uncle was silent for awhile. It was at this


Amy's Story I45
time that he took out the little black book and showed
it to me, saying what I repeated to you night before
last: “The happiness of a whole people is bound up in
this!' But he seemed to change his mind, and put it
away without saying more. ‘No, I shall not tell you,'
he said, ‘for if anything happens to me de Socotra
would be your only protector. I dare not take the re-
sponsibility of setting you against him. I will only
say this; that he opposes all I hold dear. And he would
say the same of me I have no doubt.”
“‘I am so ignorant!' I murmured.
“‘Well, at twenty years old that is natural enough,'
he said kindly, but at twenty-five, say, it will be dif-
ferent. God will never accept ignorance as an excuse
from an adult. That was really my purpose in coming.
I felt it my duty to my sister's child to make an effort
to awaken you while I could.” He looked around at
the luxuriant, perfectly-kept gardens. “You would
never awake in this castle of indolence.”
“‘But I am considered extremely wide awake, I
objected.
“‘I mean in your mind. It is time you thought of
things.” -
“‘What things?’ *-
“‘Well, life and people and how you stand towards
them. You must read and observe and make up your
own mind as to what is right. You must examine the
rules that have been laid down for you and decide for
yourself whether they are meet.”
“‘But what is the use?' I said like a child. ‘Here
I am. I can't change anything.’
“‘You can change yourself.”


I46 The Owl Taxi
“‘What's the matter with me?”
“He smiled in both kindness and fun. “One who
did not love you might call you a thoughtless, pleasure-
loving butterfly. Are you satisfied with that?”
“I believe I began to cry then. I had always thought
very well of myself, you see.
“He went on: ‘I know it seems a dreadful task to
the young, to think. But it need not be. Try the
wings of thought warily. Be satisfied with little flights
at first. I mean, think with your heart, too. That
ought not to be hard for a woman. Consider the poor
people in the city below, who, by the workings of an
evil system, are actually enslaved to the rich. Are you
willing to continue to pass your days in delicious idle-
ness at the cost of the women and children down there;
the little children already bent and emaciated by over-
work, who have no release in sight but death?’
“‘I am not responsible!” I cried aghast.
“‘But you are l’ he said sternly. ‘For the very peo-
ple that I speak of work on the plantations and in the
factories that pay the dividends that bought this ex-
quisite dress you are wearing, and that string of pearls
around your neck.’
“I tore off the pearls and tried to press them into his
hand. ‘Take them and sell them and give them the
money, I implored him.
“‘Put them on again, he said coldly. “They do not
ask for charity, but justice.”
“Well, there was much more to the same effect. I
don't suppose you need it as much as I did, so I will
hasten on with my story. This was exactly the way
Francisco had said that Antonio Bareda talked, but


Amy's Story I47
somehow in my uncle's own kind voice it had a very
different effect; it had the ring of the truth. If he had
been content simply to have lectured me like a school-
master I should have listened with my tongue in my
cheek, and would have hastened to tell Francisco after-
ward, and laugh with him. But Uncle Tony seemed
sorry for me; that was what brought the tears to my
eyes. And he was so very kind, and so ready to
laugh, too, and he understood me so well. I didn't
understand half what he said, but I knew from his
deep sad eyes that he was right. I had never seen the
proud and confident Francisco's eyes soften.
“When he left me I wept bitterly I cannot de-
scribe my state of mind; fear for him, fear for myself,
lonesomeness, self-distrust, all had a part in it. Of
course the final effect was what he had intended. Willy-
nilly I began to think of these matters. Since that hour
I have not been able to stop thinking. And even if
this dreadful tragedy had not taken place I should
never have been the same as I was before.
“When Francisco came up from the town that day
I watched him with a new and critical gaze. Under
the elegant, courteous, smiling air, I became aware of
a suggestion of ruthless cruelty. For the first time it
struck me that his handsome eyes were too close to-
gether. On the present occasion I saw that under his
debonair nonchalance which never varied, he was
deeply concerned about something.
“At dinner when the servants had left the room, the
cause of it came out. He was obliged to make a hur-
ried trip to New Orleans on affairs of the government,
he said. I must explain that mamma is of a soft and


I48 The Owl Taxi
affectionate nature and prides herself on the fact that
she has never been parted from Francisco. Francisco,
whatever his faults, is devoted to mamma and humors
her in all things. Consequently he is obliged to carry
us with him wherever he goes, though I am sure it is
often inconvenient. So when he said New Orleans
we began to plan our packing.
“We would go aboard his yacht La Tinita at bed-
time, he said, and she would weigh anchor as soon as
she was coaled. It must be given out that we were
merely going cruising in the Caribbean, he said. Se-
crecy had often been enjoined on us before, and we
had taken it as a matter of course. To his own house-
hold Francisco could do no wrong.
“But this time my suspicions were aroused. I won-
dered what devilment he was up to. It did not occur
to me to connect our sudden departure with my uncle's
journey. “New Orleans' put me off the track. The
Alliança went to New York. Moreover the idea of a
personal enmity between the two men had not yet been
suggested to me. I merely thought of them as belong-
ing to different parties.
“At sea next day I had the impulse to try to draw
out Francisco. He is always especially good-tempered
at sea. We were sitting in deck-chairs under the lee
of the after deck-house; mamma was there too, and I
said:
“‘Francisco, what is the political situation in Man-
aguay?"
“He stared and laughed. ‘Good Heavens, child!
what Put the idea of politics into your head?'


Amy's Story I49
“‘I'm no longer a child, I objected. “I must begin
to know about things.”
“‘Not politics, I hope!’
“‘What is politics, anyway?"
“‘Politics is knavish tricks, he said teasingly.
“‘Well, you're a politician, aren't you?'
“‘No, I'm a statesman, he said with a wink.
“‘Please be serious. What party do you belong
to P”
“‘The Conservative party. Why?"
“‘What party does my Uncle Tony belong to?"
“I saw that I had flicked him on the raw His eyes
narrowed, he sucked in his lip. Almost immediately
he was smiling again. “What on earth made you think
of him just then?”
“‘I often think of him.”
“‘What have you heard about him lately?"
“The anxiety with which he asked this suggested to
me the wisdom of lying. Nothing but what you say
about him,' I replied with a clear brow.
“‘Are you still fond of him?” he asked with a queer
look.
“‘How could I be? I answered, not having seen
him in eleven years.”
“‘I'm afraid you would find your Uncle Tony much
changed, he said gravely. Francisco's manner was
really admirable, but I could not forget his terrified
start at the first mention of the other man's name. ‘He
too, has become a politician. You ask me to what
party he belongs; well, he calls himself a liberal, but
that is a cloak used by many an unsuccessful self-seek-
ing man. I'm afraid your Uncle Tony must be put


I50 The Owl Taxi
down as a thoroughly bad man, my dear. He is poor,
as you know; his patrimony was squandered before it
reached him. Well, poverty is no disgrace of course,
but it is the way in which a man sets about to rehabili-
tate his fortunes that betrays his quality. Most men
set to work; others fall to scheming. Your Uncle
Tony has chosen the worser way, I'm sorry to say. He
is what men call an agitator, a demagogue. His sole
aim is to stir up strife. He has deliberately set to work
to inflame the passions of the mob to the point of
revolution, not caring how much ruin is wrought there-
by, or what blood spilt, if he may thereby be carried
to a place of power. Do you understand?'
“‘Perfectly, I said. I thought of my uncle's deep
sad eyes and did not believe a word of it. The pos-
sessor of those eyes a thoroughly bad man,'—impos-
sible. I began to suspect that the ‘thoroughly bad man'
was much nearer me at that moment. From that time
forward Francisco ceased to have the slightest in-
fluence over me.
“Our talk about politics languished. “Put it out
of your pretty head, my dear! said Francisco. “Thank
God! that horrible unsexed creature, the political
woman, has not yet penetrated to our Managuayan
Eden. Never forget that a woman's sole duty is to be
beautiful. Leave politics to us coarser beings, men.'
“I saw that my political education would not be
much furthered by Francisco, and that I should prob-
ably learn more from him by appearing to be the
feather-headed creature that he commended. So I
started to chatter. But he was not perfectly satisfied
that he had laid the political bogie in me. More than


Amy's Story I5I
once during the remainder of the voyage I caught him
glancing at me queerly. He was thinking perhaps of
my half-American ancestry. Francisco hates Ameri-
cans, though he never lets that appear of course while
he's in America.
“It was on Wednesday night that we left Santiago
de Managuay. La Tinita is fast, and we landed in
New Orleans on Friday. We had no sooner got there
than Francisco announced that his plans were changed,
and we were going on to New York by train. As
soon as he said New York I began to wonder if his
trip had anything to do with my uncle.
“We left New Orleans on the first train. Two men
joined us there, Managuayans. When I say joined us,
I mean they conferred with Francisco en route. He
did not present them to us. My curiosity was fully
aroused now. I longed to hear what they•talked about.
But they held all their conferences in a private com-
partment.
“We reached New York on Sunday morning and
went to the Meriden. We found Bianca Guiterrez
already established there. Bianca is a second cousin of
Francisco's. I don't know how she got to New York.
She was in Managuay three weeks ago. I must say
that in Managuay the women look rather askance at
Bianca, and she does not exactly move in society. She
is a prime favorite with the men of our set, particu-
larly Francisco. I have sometimes thought,—but that
doesn't signify.
“When we reached the Meriden other men kept
turning up, none of whom was presented to us. From
one thing and other, scraps of telephone conversation,


I52 The Owl Taxi
chance remarks picked up, I gathered that there was
a little circle of Managuayan politicians established
here in New York, whose meeting-place was in that
house on Ninth Street. What their purpose was I could
not guess. There were some Americans among them
to O.
“In particular there was one man, Abanez, who
seemed to be a sort of leader among them, a leader
under Francisco you understand; for it was clear to
me that Francisco was the master of them all.
“The day we arrived this Abanez was closeted with
Francisco for awhile in our sitting-room at the hotel,
and at last I had an opportunity to overhear one of
Francisco's mysterious conferences. My bedroom ad-
joined the sitting-room on one side, mamma's on the
other; she was asleep. I don't know where Bianca was.
Her room was in a different part of the hotel.
“I was in my room when Francisco and Abanez en-
tered the sitting-room. Perhaps Francisco thought I
was asleep too, or it may be that it never occurred to
him that the doors are thinner in this country than at
home. In the beginning they were cautious enough,
but as they went on they forgot and raised their voices
a little. As soon as I heard them come in, I softly
drew the key out of my door and put my ear to the
keyhole. I felt not the slightest compunctions in eaves-
dropping, for I was sure that I was helping the right.
“It was maddening at first, they talked so low. I
could hear nothing. Then Francisco, it appeared, lost
his temper. I heard him say: “I’ll tell you why I came
up here. It looked to me as if this job was in a fair
way of being bungled. I wanted to oversee things my-


Amy's Story I53
self. Do you understand the importance of it? Do
you understand that if the slightest thing goes wrong
it will mean complete ruin for all of us? On the other
hand if it's properly carried through, we can sit back,
we'll have no more trouble.”
“Abanez' reply I could not hear. From his tone I
guessed that he was trying to placate Francisco. The
latter then said:
“‘I didn't think much of the man you sent down,
this de Silva.”
“Abanez said deprecatingly: ‘He was the best I
could lay hands on at such short notice. As I told
you, I hoped you might be able to supplant him with
somebody better from down there.”
“‘In Managuay?” said Francisco scornfully. “Where
everybody and everything is known? What chance
would we have of foisting any of our people off on
Bareda? As for Bareda's own people, they are in-
corruptiblé. I've tried them and I know.’
“Abanez evidently asked him next what was his
objection to de Silva. Francisco replied impatiently:
“‘A conceited little bravo. No one but a fool like
Bareda could possibly have been taken in by him.”
“Again Abanez said something I could not hear.
“Francisco said: ‘It was all right up to the time
I left, but they will be thrown together for five days
on the ship. Bareda may well smell a rat before they
reach New York.”
“I missed Abanez' reply.
“Francisco went on impatiently: “I didn't think
much of the scheme he outlined to me either. It
sounded fantastic. The simplest measures are always


I54 The Owl Taxi
the best. Why didn't you have him taken to the Ninth
Street house? You can drive right in there out of
sight of the street.'
“Abanez said: ‘That would have necessitated tak-
ing the taxi-driver into our confidence. We had no
one on whom we could rely.”
“‘Good God! Why didn't you buy a taxi-cab, and
put one of our men on it?' "
“‘It did not seem feasible.”
“Francisco was getting angrier and angrier. “Do
you mean to tell me that you are going to depend on
any chance taxi-cab that you pick up on the pier?"
“As Francisco stormed the other man became more
obsequious. “It could not be avoided, he explained.
‘You see when the steamship docks the cabs are ad-
mitted in single file and engaged by the passengers in
order as they come. There was no way in which we
could ensure that de Silva would get a particular cab."
“‘There is always a way!' cried Francisco. 'If you
use a little head-work! Well, it's too late now to
change de Silva's instructions. I wish I had attended
to these preliminaries myself. Anyhow, I shall be on
the pier. Later I'll go to the ferry to see what has
happened.”
“There was more, but Francisco seemed to have
recollected caution, and I could not hear it. What I
had heard caused me a terrible feeling of uneasiness,
but I had nothing definite to go on. It is perfectly
clear now, when we know what happened, but you must
remember my situation. I never dreamed of anything
so terrible as the truth. Think of my ignorance and
inexperience. Why, I had lived in the same house


Amy's Story I55
with Francisco for nine years. I could not conceive
of him as a murderer.
“But it was clear enough that mischief of some sort
was afoot, with my Uncle Tony as the intended victim.
I thought perhaps they intended to rob him of the
little black book, on which he set such store. I de-
termined to warn him if I could. I made up my mind
that I would be on the pier myself when the Allianca
came in, and tell him exactly what I had overheard.
“From a newspaper I learned that she was due the
next day, Monday. Several times on Monday I called
up the steamship office, and finally learned that she had
been sighted, and was expected to land her passengers
at ten o'clock Monday night.
“This was a blow. I had anticipated difficulties in
getting away by myself during the day—living in a
strange hotel, mamma did not want to 1et me out of
her sight for a moment; but to get away at night
seemed quite out of the question. I almost gave up.
I was terrified on my own account too. One hears such
awful tales of New York after dark.
“Fortunately I had Nina to help me. At first I de-
cided to take her, and go openly to the pier in a cab,
but then I recollected that Francisco was going to be
there, and would certainly see us. I did not yet dare
to defy him openly. Finally I decided to disguise my-
self and go alone.
“I sent Nina out to buy me an outfit of boy's clothes
which she succeeded in smuggling into my room. At
dinner Francisco remarked that he had a business en-
gagement, but offered to take us to the theater on his
way, if we wouldn't mind coming home in a cab by


Amy's Story I57
get himself a drink. I could not follow him in of
course. While he was inside you drove up in your cab
and went into the bar. Presently Francisco came out
by another door. Something in the look of the cab
seemed to arrest his attention. He looked it over. He
opened the door a crack and peeped in. I know now
what he saw there, but of course I couldn't guess then.
He turned around with an ugly smile. Then you came
out, and he engaged you, and rode off on the front
seat. There was no other cab handy. I ran across the
plaza after you, and managed to get on the same boat.
Well, you know all the rest. That's my story.”
Bessie had listened to this tale with ever-deepening
indignation. “A black villain!” she cried. “This
Francisco fellow! Him with his castle and his yacht
and his money and all! He ain't got no call to be
crooked. It must be pure cussedness. And I hope
you bring him to the rope, I do!”
Amy had ended her story on a note of dejection,
and now to Greg's surprise her eyes were full of tears.
“It's not so simple,” she murmured. “I think of
mamma. This would kill her if she knew !”
Bessie made a clucking sound of sympathy. “But
she'll have to know sooner or later,” she said.
“She’ll have to suffer of course,” said Amy, “but I
must think how to save her from the worst.”
Bessie got up. “I expect you and Mr. Parr have
your plans to talk over. I'm going down-stairs to
make you a cup of hot coffee before you start out in
the cold.”
Greg thought: “Good old Bessie! She's a lady!”


I58 The Owl Taxi
Nevertheless, left alone with Amy as he had so much
desired, a sudden diffidence overcame him, and he
could find nothing to say. Amy had fallen into a kind
of study, and scarcely seemed to be aware of his
presence.
Finally he said: “What do you want me to do?”
“Ah, if I knew !” she murmured.
To Greg's direct masculine mind there was but one
course to be taken. “We have the body safe,” he
said, “and the conversation you overheard in the hotel
supplies the necessary link of evidence. I could go to
the police and ask for his arrest.”
The surprising girl's eyes flashed at him. “I will
not have it!” she cried. “That is stupid!”
“But—but you said you wanted him brought to jus-
tice,” stammered Greg.
“Would you expect me to go on the witness stand
and swear his life away—with mamma listening there?
Here in a strange country!”
"But you said—you were an American.”
"So I am—in spirit. But I have lived all my life in
Managuay. Give me time.”
"But we cannot let him go free. That would be
making ourselves accessory to the crime.”
She looked at him strangely. “I shall not let him
go free. I am thinking how to punish him. I shall
Punish him in a way that even you will admit is suf-
ficient.”
A dreadful fear made Greg's eyes widen.
She apprehended it without his speaking, “Oh, I
shall not kill him myself,” she said. “I suspect I am
too much American for that.”


Amy's Story I59
She went on presently: “I have a feeling that the
murder of my uncle is only the first act in a whole
drama of crime that Francisco is planning. We must
prevent it! If I only knew what was in that little
book! You have had no answer to your cable to
Estuban?”
Greg shook his head.
“Even if he comes it would be a week before he
could get here. Francisco will not wait a week.”
Bessie interrupted them to say that the boy from
the druggist's at the corner had come to say that Greg
was wanted on the telephone.
“That will be Pa Simmons,” said Greg. “Back in
a jiffy.”
This was what Greg heard over the wire in Pa Sim-
mons' crinkly voice:
“This you, Greg? This is me. Do you get me?
Well, I picked up that party all right at the address
given, and I stuck to him closer than a brother all
afternoon and evening. I'll give you a full report when
I come in. I just called up now to say that at eleven-
thirty I followed him to the Stickney Arms, and he's
there yet. Looks to me like he was going to stay all
night. If you want the place watched any longer
you'll have to send up one of the boys to relieve me,
because I'm all in. I gotta have my sleep.”
“All right, Pa,” said Greg. “Come on home.”
When Greg got back to Bessie's, Bessie and Amy
were drinking coffee together like sisters. A slight
alteration in their demeanor as he came in, suggested
that they were exchanging confidences that were de-
nied him. Greg felt a little sore.


16CDP The Owl Taxi
HM = reported what Pa Simmons had told him.
s_r=*X. : up. “Good!” she cried. “He’ll s
11 ** * £ Sourse. I'll go right home. If he
2. He " black book upon him I promise you
+-
2S
: 1 *- Before he leaves the apartment.”


CHAPTER XI
THE RIDE HOME
ICKEY brought the flivver round to the front
door again. As Amy got in and saw Greg pre-
paring to follow, she said with a great air of surprise:
“Oh, you're not coming.”
“Why, of course I am,” said Greg with a surprised
air as good as hers. “Why not?”
“But it isn't in the least necessary. I came alone.”
“I know. But I want to come.”
“Oh, thank you, but I don't think you'd better.”
“I’m coming,” said Greg doggedly, and got in and
closed the door.
She drew stiffly into her own corner, and stared out
of the window. Greg not at all sure of his ground was
nevertheless doggedly determined to see the thing
through. His peace of mind demanded that he come
to some kind of an understanding with her.
They rode for five blocks in silence.
Finally Greg said: “Why do you treat me so?”
It then appeared that this young lady who claimed
to be an American still retained a considerable share
of the fiery Latin temperament. “Treat you sol” she
burst out. “Treat you so! How about the way you
treat me! I showed you as plainly as I could that I
didn't want you to come. What do you wish me to
suppose when you come anyway? Do you wish to
I6I


<== The Owl Taxi
L
ind me that it is
+++
I-e-
your cab, and you have a
<-ome?”
tc- < * But why?” Stammered poor Greg. “What
−1·One since earlier to-night. Why didn't you
WL to come P”
rra- • ‘Need you ask that?”
* “I must ask it. What have I done?”
- “Nothing. °n can be very dense when they
+c+ Teel
* “I don’t "derstand. Unless I have offended
some way—”
* r *- - •
1- “Well, I can't be riding around in taxi-cabs a.
* clock '* morning with a strange man, can I;
d - •
<<> “‘Oho!” Said Greg, a great light breaking upon
- * >'' that's ridiculous!" he added presently.
'you.' •
But e around with me the other night
--Kaan this and thought nothing of it.”
Was different.”
& 4 - • • •
“And if We are engaged together in a serious a
** * ridiculous to say that we may not be alon
£xether.”
“Oh, if YOu
e wish to be insulting : 5 *
*nconsi he reason she gave was
that Gre s' ' she had some other re
It 'ne d a ittle knife in his breast. “I think I u
": he said bitterly.
“Y ha 9 you think you understand?” •
“I Ou G.; not tell me your whole story to-nigh
told you everything that bore upon the
“Yo *le and Francisco.”
* did not tell me you were engaged.”


The Ride Home I63
“What has that got to do with it?”
“You are engaged then?”
“Well—yes.”
Greg groaned inwardly. Up to this moment he had
been consoling himself with the assurance that the
Castilian youth might have been lying.
It was she who broke the next long silence. “What
difference does that make?”
“A great deal to me.”
She perversely chose to misunderstand him. “Do
you mean that you don't care to help an engaged
girl?”
“I don’t mean that at all,” said Greg indignantly.
“What do you mean then?”
“Am I no more to you than a kind of detective to
be dropped as soon as this case is done with?” he de-
manded bitterly. “Perhaps you expect to pay me for
my services and let me go.”
“If you're going to be hateful I don't know what
to say.”
“Neither do I,” said Greg gloomily. “I guess there
is nothing to be said.”
Once more it was she who could not support the
silence. “Who told you I was engaged?” she de-
manded.
“He did. The young man. I don't know his name.”
“Where did you ever meet him?”
“In the Meriden. After he left you day before
yesterday. I followed him into the bar and managed
to get into conversation with him. I was trying then
to find some way of getting into communication with
you. He volunteered the information about being


I64 The Owl Taxi
engaged to you. It came out of the clear sky to me.”
She said, not with entire candor perhaps: “I am
to understand, then, that you wish to have nothing
more to do with me or my affairs.”
“Nothing of the kind,” he said, “I shall go through
with it to the end.”
“Why are you quarreling with me then?”—this
with a plaintive note.
“I'm quarreling with you because yesterday in your
letters you called me your friend; you led me to be-
lieve that I was something more to you than a useful
person, yet you withheld this essential fact.”
“But you knew it all the time.”
“You didn't tell me. How did I know but what
the man was lying?”
“He’s incapable of lying!”
“Oh, now you're simply trying to change the issue.”
He had her there. She fell silent.
Presently he went on with added bitterness. “What
I can't understand is, when you said you were an
American, when you said you loved America, how
you could have chosen him.”
“That's why,” she said. “He’s an American.”
“What!”
“Half an American anyway. His father was an
American like mine. His name is Henry Saunders.”
“I fancy he must take after his mother,” said Greg
dryly.
Once more they rode for several blocks in a mis-
erable silence, each looking out of his own window.
“I'm sorry I can't drop this painful subject,” Greg


The Ride Home I65
said at last, “but I’ve got to know where Mr. Saun-
ders comes in on our case.”
“What do you mean? He doesn’t come in at all.”
“Is he on de Socotra's side?”
“He has nothing to do with politics.”
“I see. What does he do?”
“Are you trying to insult him?”
“Not at all. Merely asking for a little informa-
tion.”
“He’s very wealthy. He looks after his property
and—er—he travels.”
“I see. What would your uncle have said about
him?”
“I don't know, I'm sure.”
“But you said your uncle's ideas had very strongly
affected you.”
“That's true. But I wouldn't let him nor anybody
else choose a man for me to marry.”
“Of course not. But as the wife of Mr. Saunders
do you expect to lead the kind of life your uncle rec-
ommended?”
“I don't admit your right to ask me any such ques-
tion.”
“Easy enough to say that when the question is hard
to answer,” said Greg bitterly.
“I wish I were home!” she said in a small voice.
But he would not spare her. “Why haven't you told
Mr. Saunders everything that has happened?”
“Because—Oh, a thousand reasons! How many
more questions do you expect me to answer?”
“Is it because you think he might not be willing to
help you run down the murderers of Antonio Bareda?”


I66 The Owl Taxi
“You have no right to suggest such a thing!”
“But you said he was rich. Naturally he belongs
to the rich man's party.”
“He’s honest and straightforward.”
“Then why haven't you told him?”
“I wished to spare him.”
“I’m sorry, but he must be told.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Must? I don't like your
tone. Why must he?”
“I should think you'd see yourself. You and I can't
be engaged on these secret matters and go around
together without his being told. I must insist on his
being told for my own sake.”
It need hardly be said that in taking this lofty moral
position Greg was not wholly sincere. As a matter
of fact he suspected that the Castilian youth would
cut a very poor figure in a matter of this kind, and he
had a not unnatural desire to show him up.
“Very well, I'll tell him,” she said crossly.
“And I should be introduced to him.”
“Anything else?” she queried sarcastically.
On the whole that drive home could not be con-
sidered a success. The very warmth of their feelings
towards each other gave them a power to wound that
they seemed to take a perverse pleasure in exercising
to the full. But Greg thought of how it would be after
she left him, and his heart sunk. As they drew near
the Stickney Arms he made an effort to mend matters.
“We don't seem to be getting on very well to-night.”
“I’m sure it's not my fault,” she retorted with her
chin in the air.
This was not promising, but he persisted. “I'm


The Ride Home
*
I67
sorry if I have been rude or rough. Forgive me, and
admit that you were just a little bit to blame too.”
“I shall do nothing of the kind! I should never let
any man take such a tone of command towards me,
least of all a stranger. It's ridiculous!”
“I’m sorry. Forgive me,” said Greg again.
“Oh, it's easy to ask forgiveness. You can't expect
to make me as angry as you possibly can, and then
have me turn around and forgive you for the asking.”
As the cab slowed down Greg said: “At least say
good-night to me nicely.”
“I can't,” she said. “You make me hate you.”
She marched across the pavement without a back-
ward look. Greg for obvious reasons did not get out
of the cab. As they turned back home he sighed. If
he had been a better psychologist, or rather if the
keenness of his feelings had not blinded him to the
psychology of the desired one, he would not have been
so cast down.


CHAPTER XII
WHAT THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK CONTAINED
Televen o'clock next morning a strange taxi-cab
appeared in Gibbon Street and drew up before
Bickle's grocery. From it stepped a figure so remark-
able in that neighborhood that the little boys for the
moment were too astonished even to deride it; to wit:
Señor Henry Saunders in full regalia, a red carnation
in his buttonhole. He picked his way gingerly into the
store and looked about him with an expression of as-
tonished rebuke that the common things of life should
dare to approach so close. He inquired of Bessie
for “Señor Greegoree Parr.”
Bessie not at all intimidated by his exquisiteness
marched him out through the kitchen into the muddy
yard where Greg in overalls, a sight for gods and
men, was busy greasing and tightening up the flivver.
“Oh, there is a mistake l’” said Señor Saunders ele-
vating his eyebrows. “It is for Señor Greegoree Parr
that I ask.”
“That's me,” said Greg inelegantly. “I know you
of course. How are you?”
The situation was too much for the Castilian youth.
He looked about him wildly. The sight of Blossom
and Ginger McAfee grinning in the background did
not tend to reassure him. “You—you drive dees cab!”
he stammered.
I68


What the Little Black Book Contained 169
“Sure!” said Greg wickedly. “I'm what they call
an owl-driver.”
“A owl-driver !”
“Sure, you know, a fly-by-night.” He opened the
door of the flivver. “Get in. We can talk quietly
here.”
Señor Henry glanced askance at the overalls.
“Thank you, I stand. My taxi waits. I bring you
dees note.”
“Ah, from Miss Wilmot!” said Greg with a gleam-
ing eye. He wiped his hands preparatory to taking
1t.
The other young man marked the gleam and stif.
fened. These two were bound to strike sparks from
each other on sight. “Miss Wilmot—I do not under-
stand,” he said haughtily.
“Oh, I suppose you call her Señorita de Socotra,”
said Greg carelessly. “But she prefers to be known
by the other name now.”
“Is it so?” queried Señor Saunders icily. “Did she
tell you that?”
“She did,” said Greg giving him stare for stare.
Meanwhile he opened his note. There were but
four lines.
“I have told Henry everything. He is anxious to
help. I hope you're satisfied. F. has not got what
we want with him. If I detain him here until after
lunch, could you have his room at the hotel searched?
“A. Wilmot.”
Meanwhile the dark-skinned youth had been study-
ing the fair one.


What the Little Black Book Contained 17I
“That may be,” said Greg dryly, “but he did it
just the same, or had it done.”
“Should that be so,” said the other, “it is not fitting
that the Señorita undertake the duties of a police offi-
cer. I do not approve of it.”
“Oh, don't you!” thought Greg.
“Hereafter I will act for her in taking whatever
measures may be necessary.”
“That will be nice,” said Greg ironically. “You
will excuse me now, I am sure. I have an important
job on this morning. Have to get a hustle on. You
said your taxi was waiting... You and I can have a
nice long talk some other time.”
So saying, he wafted Señor Saunders towards the
yard gate. The latter presently found himself out
on the sidewalk, a little dazed and wholly disap-
proving.
Meanwhile Greg rushed up-stairs to dress. As soon
as he was ready Hickey took him to the Hotel des.
Estados Unidos. Greg registered there. He had on
his previous visited noted that de Socotra, or Bareda
as he called himself here, occupied room 318, and he
wished to obtain a room as near to that as possible.
He supposed that 318 would be on the third floor.
“Not too high up,” he said, as the clerk turned to
choose him a room, “say, the third floor.”
“Very good, sir. Number 311. Have you any
baggage?”
“It will be sent here later.”
The clerk looked at him significantly.
“I will pay for a day in advance,” said Greg, who
had no wish to cheat the hotel out of its just dues.


I72 The Owl Tax:
“Thank you, sir. Two dollars.”
Greg was shown to his room. He let the boy go
and made a little reconnoissance. His own room
looked upon the side street. Number 318 he found
was at the end of the same corridor on the other side.
It was evidently from its position a corner room with
a window on the court and other windows to the west.
There was a red light outside the door, indicating that
the room possessed a fire escape. Around the corner
of the corridor, opposite the elevator, was a window
on the court, from which Greg could command the
court window of de Socotra's room. The fire escape
was outside the court window; moreover the window
itself was open. Greg saw that the room might be
reached without especial difficulty from five other
rooms, i.e. one on the same floor, two above and two
below.
He returned to the office. “You haven't a room
opening on a fire-escape have you?” he asked the
clerk. “I’m a bit nervous about fire in an old building
like this.”
The clerk consulted his plan. “No,” he said.
“Those rooms go first. But 316 on your floor is va.
cant. The fire-escape is adjoining. From the window
you could reach out and put your hand on it if there
was any need.”
“Very well, change me to 316,” said Greg, sup-
pressing the desire to thank the amiable clerk who so
innocently played into his hand.
Alone in 316 Greg narrowly searched all the win-
dows on the other side of the court. No head was to
be seen at any one of them. He reassured himself


What the Little Black Book Contained 173
with the thought that at half-past eleven in the morn-
ing in a transient hotel there was not much reason for
the guests to be in their rooms. There was a certain
risk of course, but that must be taken.
He raised the window of his room to its widest
extent and stood back to make sure for the last time
that no one was watching him. Then grasping the
rail of the fire escape he swung himself over, threw
up the window of the adjoining room and slipped in.
In all he was not visible above five seconds. Having
made the trip he looked sharply behind him, but still
no startled face appeared at any window within view.
He breathed more freely.
Bolting the door into the hall, he took stock of his
surroundings. There was no question but that he
was in the right room, for the old suit-case with the
collapsible side lay open on the floor, with de Socotra's
more elegant valise beside it. The suit-case had been
ransacked, but not unpacked. It contained only what
an old gentleman of modest tastes might carry on a
journey. De Socotra's own things were spread on
the bureau and hung in the closet, a bit of stage busi-
ness for the benefit of the maids, Greg supposed, for
it was not likely that the elegant de Socotra troubled
this modest room much.
Swiftly and silently Greg made his search. It did
not take long, for the room offered but few possible
places of concealment; valises, bureau drawers, closet.
Greg did not neglect the bed; but no little black book
rewarded him. He went over everything twice, taking
care to leave all exactly as he had found it. His dis-
appointment was keen. All that thought not to speak


I74- The Owl Taxi
of the risk, deserved a better reward he told himself.
Lister": first to make sure there was no one in the
corride’’: he left the room openly by the door. It
locke C1 itself behind him. He went on down-stairs,
meani”* to return direct to the taxi-yard, for the
Hote P des Estados Unidos had served its purpose as
far as he was concerned. But a little incident in the
lobby changed his plans.
As he stepped from the elevator his attention was
attracted by a young man entering the lobby from the
street * the same moment, a South American appar-
ently, like the majority of this hotel's patrons. Some-
thing * his face appealed instinctively to Greg, his
honest, eager gaze perhaps, his sensitive and resolute
mouth; anyway there was something about him that
caused Greg to think: “He'd make a good friend.”
Greg was struck further by an extraordinary look
of anxiety on the other's face, a generous anxiety. He
came quickly to the desk beside which Greg was stand-
ing, and not more than a foot separated them. But
the young Spanish-American never noticed Greg; his
anxiety filled him. He moistened his lips before he
spoke, and asked the clerk a question in Spanish, as if
his life depended on the answer.
Greg was almost betrayed into an exclamation of
astonishment. The young man asked for “Señor An-
tonio Bareda.”
The clerk replied in the affirmative, and an extra-
ordinary look of relief passed over the young man's
face. For a moment he seemed overcome; he lowered
his eyes until he could command himself, and passed


What the Little Black Book Contained I75
his handkerchief over his face. The clerk noticed
nothing.
Finding his voice the young man asked another ques-
tion. Not hard to guess what this was, because the
clerk glanced in the box marked 318, and seeing the
key there, shook his head. The young man spoke
again—was it to ask when Señor Bareda would return?
The clerk shrugged and spread out his hands.
Greg was on fire with curiosity. He lit a cigar,
and affected to look idly around like a man with time
on his hands. Meanwhile he missed no move of the
young man's. The grand question was, was he look-
ing for the real or the false Bareda? Greg wished to
believe that he was a friend of the real Bareda's. Cer-
tainly he bore no resemblance to others of de Socotra's
gang who had all somehow a fishy look. This young
fellow's glance was as open as the day. But if it were
true that he were on the side of the real Bareda, a
dreadful shock awaited him.
After a moment's hesitation the young Spanish-
American crossed the lobby and dropped into one of
the chairs by the window. He still felt the effects of
his late anxiety. He looked exhausted. But a great
content had ironed out the harassed lines in his face.
Greg's heart was sharp with compassion for him.
“Have I got to deal him a knockout blow?” he
thought.
He took a turn up and down the lobby, and finally
dropped carelessly into a seat beside the other.
“Do you speak English?” he asked with a friendly
grin.
“Why, yes,” said the other smiling back.


What the Little Black Book Contained 177
“Oh, everybody knows her,” was the indifferent
COmment.
“The father interested me,” Greg persisted. “Señor
Francisco de Socotra ” here the young man's eyes
gleamed, but Greg could not be sure with what kind
of feeling. “Very handsome man,” Greg went on, “do
you know him?”
“I know him,” the young man said curtly.
Greg was still baffled. “What do you think of
him?” he asked direct.
The young man's eyes positively blazed. “I prefer
not to say,” he replied setting his jaw. “It wouldn't
be polite.”
Greg was delighted. It was true this might be good
acting, but the young man's implied scorn of de So-
cotra had all the effect of a violent denunciation.
Greg could conceive of no reason why a follower of de
Socotra's should denounce him to a stranger.
Greg went further. “At the desk just now I heard
you ask for Señor Antonio Bareda.” -
The young man's face seemed to open as with an
inner light. He turned eagerly to Greg. “My mas-
ter and my friend!” he cried impulsively. “The best
of men! Do you know him too?”
Greg's heart bled for this generous youth. He
shook his head.
“I thought if you are stopping here you might have
met him,” the other went on. “Perhaps you have seen
him about the hotel, a little, plump, smooth-shaven old
gentleman, with an old-fashioned courteous air, and a
beaming glance that seems to shed kindness all around


What the Little Black Book Contained 179
latel” He sank into a chair and covered his face
with his hands. He did not weep; no further sound
escaped him. His silence scared Greg more than
any outburst could have done.
“God knows I feel for you,” Greg said earnestly.
“But just the same you must try to forget your grief
for the present. You must get a grip on yourself.
There is justice to be done!”
The appeal had the desired effect. Estuban's hands
came down. His face was drawn and white, but com-
posed. “How did it happen?” he asked quietly.
“He was murdered by de Socotra's orders.”
“Of course! But have you the proof? Can we
bring it home to that damned cold villain?”
“With your help I think we can.”
“Ah, if that is so,” cried Estuban, “if we can smash
that devilish ring, my poor master has not died quite
in vain! When did it happen?”
“The night he landed; in a cab on his way from the
pier.”
Estuban looked puzzled. “But if that is so, how is
it he is registered here? The hotel clerk told me 9%
“It is de Socotra who is registered here under his
name.”
“What is that for?” murmured Estuban blankly.
“I hoped you could explain,” said Greg.
Estuban slowly shook his head. “Has the crime
been reported to the police?” he asked.
“No. But we have recovered the body. There are
certain difficulties in the way. I will explain as we
go on. We are very anxious to learn what Señor Ba-


The Owl Taxi
+ CP
IC
-12.’s note-book contains that makes it of such
r- = elming importance.” 44 h it?
E. TEstuban *P*ng up excitedly. “You have
?”
e
es. 2" *:::: shook his head.
ing to recover it.
--> e still in the dark a
+- “‘Oh,
“De Socotra has it. W
But what is in it? You
s to the motives for the c
* tell you that. But who are y
++icer? a detective?”
<> “No.”
“Then how di
?”
-2a.” -
Greg told hi
stuban's exp
|- e11S6 Concern
* 2 in aspects
11CC.
“But that 1
4 & * - -
d you come to take an interest
• (
"the whole story as briefly :
ressive Latin face was ". '
astonishment, even grim num tec
of the tale. He only interrup
de Socotral Impossible! Frai
_1aughter l”
"His ado
“Oh true
“And B
"But she foreswore my poor master when sh
• it. H
-to live with the rich. He grieved over it.
x10% spoken to her in ten years.”
4 & Ou ar
* mistaken there. He sought '',
<day before he sailed for New York on the
and had a long talk with her, a talk that pro
influenced the girl.”
Pted daughter.”
?
I had forgotten that.'
*reda's niece.”


What the Little Black Book Contained 181
“I was in jail then,” said Estuban coolly.
“In jail!” said the astonished Greg.
“Oh, that's nothing disgraceful in Managuay,” said
Estuban bitterly. “Go on.”
When Greg came to the end Estuban said thought-
fully: “The man de Silva arrived in Managuay a
few days before I was arrested. He claimed to be
the representative of a New York trading house, and
was provided with seemingly authentic credentials.
He had lived long enough in the United States to
imbibe liberal ideas it was thought, and we hoped to
secure in him a recruit to our side. No connection be-,
tween him and the de Socotra gang had appeared.
When I was separated from Señor Bareda I suppose
he naturally turned to this man; he had to have an
interpreter. Even under the conditions that sur-
rounded us my poor master was always too slow to
suspect evil. It was I who was accustomed to protect
him from his own innocence of heart.”
“And now we know,” added Greg, “that de Silva
was sent down from New York especially for the
purpose of worming himself into Señor Bareda's con-
fidence.”
“Now I'll tell you what was in the little black book,”
said Estuban.
Greg looked at his watch. “Hold onl” he said.
“It's past one. De Socotra might possibly return
here. His room is adjoining. We had better go down
to my own room where there is no danger of being
disturbed. In any case I have to be there at two to
receive a report over the telephone.”


I82 The Owl Taxi
In the little hall-room at Bessie Bickle's Estuban,
white-faced and grim, told his tale. There was no
sign of weakness in him now. He referred to his mur-
dered friend calmly. He said:
“First I must try to make you understand the situ-
ation in Managuay that produced this crime. It may
be difficult for a free American to credit, though it is
simple enough. You must bear in mind that Managuay
is a very small country, a sort of small-town republic,
and quite ouside the currents of the world's thought;
indeed for Managuayans the outside world hardly ex-
ists. In other countries, even the most backward, of
late years a social conscience has developed, but in
Managuay no! Our overlords are still as rapacious
as feudal barons. We have no prosperous middle class
to act as a balance wheel. In Managuay there is noth-
ing between the old Spanish aristocracy and the mis-
erable peons.
“Up to a dozen years ago Managuay was a poor
country; the old landholders were impoverished, and
they had no business acumen; trade passed by our
ports. Then American business men began to find
us; they had the business ability and the Managuayans
had the rich land. Gradually there grew up the in-
famous association that has almost ruined my country.
"The trouble was, the land was too rich. Under im-
proved methods of cultivation and with the markets
made accessible, great fortunes were reaped from rub-
ber, coffee, fruit in a single season. Too easily made
money atrophies men's moral sense; they become filled
with a lust for more! morel more! -
9ar landholders sold their lands to American cor-


184 The Owl Taxi
it thoughtlessly backs up its buccaneers of commerce
without examining into their methods. And we little
helpless people suffer. The ruling gang in Managuay
derives its real power from the implied support of the
United States which is behind it. I believe that Sec-
retaries of State are honest men, but they may be
swayed through devious courses that they know not of.
And up to this time there never was anybody to speak
for the wretched natives of Managuay.
“You can see how hopeless it was to think of suc-
cessfully opposing so perfect an organization. I may
mention as a significant fact that our army is largely
recruited from neighboring states. It is plentifully
supplied with machine guns. With the judges and the
machine guns on the other side what could a poor man
do? Our so-called popular elections were of the na-
ture of a comic opera.
“As a matter of fact there has been little open dis-
content. The odds were too hopeless. The most
dreadful feature of the situation was the people's
apathy.
“The one champion who never lost faith in them
was Antonio Bareda; patient, great-hearted, and of
dauntless courage, he was well fitted to be the friend
of the oppressed. For the last eight years or so, or
ever since things began to go to the bad, he had been
working for them. During that time his life has been
a long record of petty persecutions on the part of the
authorities. But his very simplicity and candor baf-
fled his enemies. He gave them no handle to use
against him. His clear gaze struck a secret terror to
their souls. They dared not take extreme measures


What the Little Black Book Contained 185
against him on account of his hold on the affections
of the people. They feared that his death might pro-
voke even that wretched race to rebel.
“He lately came to the conclusion that the people
must have outside help in order to free themselves.
He determined to appeal to the United States through
your President. The late elections in Managuay pro-
vided his opportunity. As I have said, our elections
are no more than a cynical joke. For some years now
the gang's candidates have been returned unopposed.
This year, however, with the help of a few of us
working in absolute secrecy Bareda succeeded in form-
ing at least the skeleton of a political organization and
in putting up opposition candidates.
“Of course we did not expect to win. Our candi-
dates (I was one of them) were either bribed, arrested
or bludgeoned. Nevertheless we gained our point,
which was to put the corruption of the government on
record. Antonio Bareda prepared a report of that
election, supported by a dozen affidavits attesting to
examples of subornation, bribery, assault, intimida-
tion, etc. That is the matter that is bound up in the
little black book.
“Secret as we were, our purpose became known of
course; they have their spies everywhere. It threw
a panic into the enemies' camp. Bareda was on his
way to carry it to the President when he was killed.
It was Bareda's intention to appeal to your President
to withdraw his recognition from the present illegal
government of Managuay, and for him to insist on an
honest election being held, if necessary under guard of


I88 The Owl Taxi
“What kind of man was with him?”
“Another dago, fattish, clean-shaven, elegant
dressed, a man with a sleepy kind of look.”
“Abanez,” thought Greg.
“Well, the two of them started west on Seventeenth,
and I hustled back and got my cab and followed.
"Tain't no cinch, though, to follow two men on foot
when you're in a cab. I ran circles round the block
so's they wouldn't catch on that I was trailing them.
At the Avenue they hailed a bus and rode up on top
where I could watch them good. They went into a
railway ticket office at Thirtieth Street. I followed
them in. I saw Soak-oater buy a ticket to Washing-
ton and a parlor-car seat on the six o'clock train this
evening. I heard him say to the guy with him: "Yew-
neth, or some such name says he, "Yew-neth will tele-
graph me during the afternoon what time the Presi-
dent will see me to-morrow.’
“Well, the two guys parted outside the ticket-office,
and Soak-oater led me to a little hotel on Irving Place
called—well, I can't say it because it's Spanish, but
you know the place. He's in there now, and I'm phon-
ing from across the street.”
Greg's instructions to Pa Simmons were to stick to
his man and report again in an hour, or as soon there-
after as he was able.
Greg repeated the matter of his report to Estuban.
“Going to Washington to see the President!” cried
he, perplexed.
“Who is Yew-neth?” asked Greg.
“Evidently intended for Nunez, the Managuayan


De Socotra Hires T70II Again 189
#
minister at Washington, and one of de Socotra's crea-
tures of course.” Estuban was in a study.
“What do you make of it?” asked Greg.
“I believe I'm beginning to see what he's up to,”
Estuban replied slowly. “It’s a devilish scheme,
worthy of de Socotra!”
“You mean he's going to impersonate Bareda when
he sees the President?”
“Exactly! Not content with murdering my poor
friend he intends to blacken his memory. Nunez will
introduce him as Antonio Bareda. The visit will be
reported in the newspapers—Bareda sees the Presi-
dent, and the news will be cabled to Managuay. What
de Socotra will tell the President one can guess; it will,
certainly not be anything that will lead him to take
action in Managuay. Perhaps that will be reported
in the papers too: “Bareda tells the President Mana-
guay is happy and contented under the present régime!’
In any case when Bareda fails to return to Managuay
his poor followers, who are so anxiously hanging on
the result of this visit, will believe that their champion
has betrayed them. How simple!”
“How devilish!” added Greg.
Estuban said: “De Socotra must be arrested before
he gets on the train.”
Greg thought anxiously of Amy. “That won't do
you any good,” he said quickly. “You couldn't prove
in advance that he intended to impersonate another.”
“I could prove the murder.”
“Not without Señorita de Socotra. And she won't
testify against him.”
“Then must he go free?” cried Estuban stormily.


The Owl Taxi
9c= – 2, #" get the little black bo.
o
I - ++ e is helpless Y
- ou could carry that
ourself.”
al- -57
2.11.
--~ - f i
ow do you Purpose getting hold o
de:-- **'. know Yet. I have four hours
-- * “'
* Way. At least I known
+1 is person.”
tixx * *:::. ahead and s
oria- - - myself free to act. I w
= * ** on which he travels to Washington.
*=- * - But he *ust know you,” said Greg.
tr- - * I shall be disguised.”
* his gave Greg an idea. “Do you kn
ut disguises?”
e asked eagerly. iml
w-T--Oh, yes,” said Estuban smiling grimly
2.
• ?
+r y necessary Part of a conspirator's wo
??
<2*
W
*. Could you disguise me?”
g=_* * “What as **
A “A shabby old cabman.”
< *That *htn't to be hard with the
-ve before
*s down here.” t
**Good l I meet a man up-
h 2 aVe to
2. You get together what mate:
{ 4 I'll be back at the yard in an hour.
14ickey was
e.this after
-
• ladi
taking the de Socotra
noon. *'' he had dropp
** the theater Greg met him by appoin
* = a rest corner. After his unhappy :
* e night before Greg did not know wh
im in the usual
#ere ** a note for him in t


De Socotra Hires T70II Again I9I
devoured it. It was sufficiently baffling. The tone
was friendly, but there was not the slightest reference
to the ride home the night before. On the whole
Greg was relieved.
“What did you do to poor Henry? He came back
from his visit to you in a fit of the black sulks and has
been lecturing me ever since. Men are so trying! I'm
sorry I had no luck with the l.b.b. I anxiously await
word from you. Francisco says he is going out of town
this afternoon, but gives us no hint of his destination.
He says he'll be back day after to-morrow, and then
we'll all go home. I am distracted with anxiety and
completely at sea.
“Have you any news?
“Amy W.”
“What's orders for the afternoon?” asked Hickey.
“Shall I try to pick up a little trade until 4.45?”
Greg was standing with a hand on the cab, lost to
his surroundings. His plan was beginning to take
shape. He shook his head. “No time for that.
Hickey,” he said suddenly, “can you drive Pa Sim-
mons' car, the Pack-Arrow?”
“Sure!”
“Good! Then I'll want you to change with him.
You can tell the ladies when you come back that your
own car broke down, see? I'll take the flivver because
I know its ways.”
First Greg had Hickey take him to a firm of sta-
tioners, where after a somewhat lengthy search
through the stock he found a loose-leaf note-book
bound in black seal that at least in a general way re-
sembled the famous little black book. This Greg


De Socotra Hires T70II Again 193
fail, don't lose heart, for I'll be there to have a try,
and after me there is a third in reserve. Frank has
told me that your apartment is on the eighth or next
to the top floor, and that the window of your own
room is the third from the corner on the river side.
I shall be watching that window while F. is with you.
If you get the l.b.b. from him hang something white
out of that window, and I'll know everything is all
right. If I have luck F. will be riding in my cab, but
in any case I'll be hard on his trail.
“Greg.”
When Pa Simmons came in with his cab this note
was slipped in the usual place behind the back seat,
and Hickey was dispatched up-town in the Pack-Arrow
to take the ladies home from the theater. Pa Sim-
mons enjoyed a well-earned rest.
Meanwhile in the little hall-room, Mario Estuban
was practicing the art of disguise on Greg. To begin
with they borrowed the outer wear of Pa Simmons
entire. Under ordinary circumstances this would have
been disguise enough, but as Greg had been somewhat
similarly attired on the night he first drove de Socotra
around town, they had to go further. Estuban knew
better than to attempt the impossible; he could not
have made an old man out of the smooth-faced Greg;
at least not one that would have stood scrutiny under
the light of day. But with a touch of paint he made
his eyes red-rimmed and bleary, and put on a pair of
cheap spectacles. A clay-colored pigment rubbed into
his cheeks made them look hollow and unwholesome;
a ragged mustache, and a lank lock of hair sticking
down from under the peak of his cap completed the
picture. As a last touch of realism, in the yard below


I94 The Owl Taxi
Greg grimed his hands and blackened his nails. His
own mother would not have recognized him.
“Holy Smokel" cried Pa Simmons; “looks like he
was born in an owl taxi and never seen the light of the
sun since!”
Meanwhile Pa Simmons had been looking over the
flivver, giving her a little grease here and there, and
tightening up a nut or two. With Blossom's help he
succeeded in modifying the list to starboard that was
her most characteristic peculiarity. In case de So-
cotra might have remarked her license number on a
previous occasion they changed plates for to-night with
Blossom's car.
Greg took the wheel, and Blossom cranked her. Bes-
sie waved good-by from the kitchen doorway. All
knew that a crisis in the affairs of Greg and Amy was
due this night. After the customary fusillade of back-
fires while she was warming up the flivver moved out
of the yard.
It was now shortly after four. Greg hastened up-
town and from the telegraph office nearest the Stick-
ney Arms sent his decoy telegram to de Socotra. Re-
turning then to Irving Place he took up his stand just
above the Hotel dos Estados Unidos where he could
watch the entrance. To all those who offered to en-
gage him he shook his head and pointed to the flag on
his taxi-meter which was down.
His principal fear was that the telegram might be
delivered too soon, and de Socotra get to the apart-
ment before the ladies returned from the theater. This
would be a calamity since Amy would be unprepared


De Socotra Hires T70II Again 195
for him; she could not be expected to get a chance,
to read Greg's letter until she got home.
But as five o'clock approached and there was no sign
of de Socotra, Greg's anxieties took another direction.
Suppose the telegram were not delivered until after
de Socotra had left for the station; suppose he had
already been to the hotel for his bag, and would not.
get the telegram at all.
Choosing a moment when the little lobby was well-
filled Greg inconspicuously made his way in and helped
himself to a drink from the water-cooler. As he
passed the desk he glanced in box 318. The key was
not there; de Socotra then was presumably in his
room. So far so good. Greg returned to his cab with
an easier mind.
At five minutes past five a messenger boy entered
the hotel with several telegrams, among which Greg
devoutly hoped might be the one he had sent. At ten
minutes past five de Socotra issued out of the hotel.
In one hand he carried his valise, in the other an
opened telegram. His face bore an expression of
strong annoyance not unmixed with alarm.
Greg eagerly called his cab to his attention. “Taxi,
Sir P”
De Socotra came quickly towards him, and Greg
stooping cranked his car. Thus de Socotra got in with-
out obtaining a good look at his chauffeur. In a few
minutes it would be dark. Greg slid into his seat, and,
turned an ear towards the back of his car.
“Where to, sir?”
“Stickney Arms apartment house, Riverside and
Ninety-fourth. And hurry. Double fare if you get


I96 The Owl Taxi
me there and back to the Southern Terminal before
six.”
Touching his cap, Greg opened her up. Deep within
him he chuckled with satisfaction; de Socotra obviously
had no suspicion that he had ever engaged that cab
before.
As de Socotra got out at the Stickney Arms he said
with scarcely a glance at Greg: “Let your engine run.
I shan’t be in here more than five minutes.”
Greg waited in what anxiety can be imagined. The
five minutes seemed like as many hours. From where
he stood beside his cab he could not see the windows
of the eighth floor, so he backed across the road and
looked up. On this part of Riverside the houses are
not built directly on the Drive, but on a narrow road-
way terraced above it. There were ornamental bushes
and shrubs on this slope. It was almost dark now and
many of the windows showed lights, but not the third
window from the corner on the eighth floor.
Greg tried to picture to himself what was going on
within the apartment. All of a sudden his plan seemed
preposterous to him. How could he expect the care-
fully-reared Amy suddenly to play the part of a pick-
pocket successfully!—and in five minutes. If she tried
it at all he feared it would only be to betray herself to
de Socotra with perhaps tragic results.
But just as he had made up his mind to the worst
his heart gave a great leap of gladness, for from the
window he watched fluttered something white. She
had actually done it! Bravo, Amy!
He returned to his cab. Presently de Socotra re-


De Socotra Hires T70II Again I97
appeared, and at the same moment Henry Saunders
came around the corner on foot. The two men met
at the foot of the steps. They addressed each other
in Spanish, but from expression and gesture it was not
difficult to guess what was said. Saunders told de
Socotra that he had something important to tell him.
De Socotra replied that he was in a hurry to catch his
train and invited Saunders to ride down-town with him.
The two men entered the cab.
Greg's face turned grim. What was the nature of
Saunders' communication? Was it possible that Amy's
fiancé intended to betray them?
De Socotra said: “Back to the Southern Terminal.
You can make it if you hurry. You have twenty-five
minutes.” -
Turning into the Drive proper, Greg speeded down-
town. On that broad thoroughfare, unimpeded by
cross traffic, the speed limit is a little bit eased. At
the end of the Drive he bore through Seventy-second
Street, but instead of continuing down-town by Broad-
way, the main motor highway, he turned into Amster-
dam, and running in the car-tracks of that unfrequented
street opened her up wide.
He would have given much to hear what was being
said behind. Whatever it was he fervently hoped that
it would not prevent de Socotra from taking his train.
Once he saw him safe aboard that train Greg deter-
mined that he would go openly to Amy and get the
little black book from her. Once they had that pre-
cious evidence in their hands, little matter if de Socotra
did discover their relations. But Amy could scarcely
go on living under his roof.


| Taxi
*ched the da
ry of the W
= I £ * and # d turne east t
tr- =: h wn When as startled ,
tir- P Cotr G glas ehin hi t the San
:- * =: O ened he Cab doo
de- - * c. # O back: h crie a strait
Fi 2. he tur to he a. "tment p,
V – '. into : : "d in he s eet, Gre.
IrT
Of eith he C
TL – e er- "han
st-
<P tra’s ha
S. <>
• e could no
Dut reveale
w t
had b. *ds. he I
5 Ila
Tr"
ci-E-
a.
S
y the lig
ittle black boo Ope
9 the Worst had happened
£ed them, and d Socotr had dis.
1-> <= could ion, Greg's °ontracted
t - *. tu he arn Amy in tl
HRC ++ r
ded "ed bac Into "sterdam Venue
££," rth aga In ts to colle.
IHa-- mere." "stinct. ely slowed Wn. e SC
{~ ---.' £on the *...*nd yelled
Ste
Ha- Prese # h *ster! What,
ain he •- e
−- #=
at's the matter With y
Chan ed his mind.
tel £id, 's'.
e ep One * 3
<> •
‘t The t
3.
X tumbled he cab The
l Cut 'in Spani h ders *eemed to
: kind O spp which de £otra f
c- 1th ra Se ° latter's f livid and distore
2: Was Go " the smil '"us venee
£ PPalle here latio of the man's tru
2: to . s' the ot er hand S ders seemed almos


2OO The Owl Taxi
madhouse-well, sanitarium if you like it better. At
once. To-night. A high-class place, expensive and all
that. Well, please find out for me and let me know
quickly at my apartment. And get Abanez on the wire
if you can, and tell him to come to me.”
Greg gasped inwardly. The man's boldness stag-
gered him. No need to ask who the madhouse was
for ! Before he could collect his wits de Socotra was
out of the booth. Greg hastily put his glass to his lips.
“Damn you, have you nothing better to do than
drink slops!” cried de Socotra furiously. “Come on!”
This was nuts to the soda-clerk. He came to the
door to see the last of this diverting pair.
By the time they started, Greg had made up his mind
what to do. A few blocks farther up the street—they
were in the Forties now—he saw a garage and pulled
up at the door.
De Socotra with a violent oath demanded to know
what he was stopping for.
“Out of gas,” said Greg laconically.
De Socotra swore and stamped on the pavement like
a man beside himself. Greg stared at him, affecting a
stupid wonder. A trolley car came up the avenue. De
Socotra tossed Greg a bill without looking at it and
running out in the street swung himself aboard the
Call".
For an agonized instant of indecision Greg debated
whether he would do better to jump back in his cab,
and endeavor to beat de Socotra to the Stickney Arms,
or stop and telephone. But the car was traveling
fast, and de Socotra could surely get another cab at the


De Socotra Hires T70II Again 20I
Broadway intersection. Greg ran into the garage to
telephone.
Ages seemed to pass while he was getting the apart-
ment house. He ground his teeth and prayed for pa-
tience. As a matter of fact there was no undue delay.
He asked for Señorita de Socotra, and there was an-
other fifteen seconds of agony before a feminine voice
answered on the wire—not the crisp tones of Amy,
alas! but the languorous Bianca. Greg cursed him-
self for his folly in supposing that they would allow
Amy to answer the 'phone.
“I want to speak to Señorita de Socotra,” he said.
“Who are you?” asked Bianca.
In an evil moment Greg answered “Abanez.” In
his excitement he forgot that Bianca and Abanez were
cronies. A flood of Spanish answered him. He could
only say lamely:
“Yes, I know, but I wanted to speak to Amélie.”
“I don't know of whom you are speaking,” the voice
said in cold hard English. “You have the wrong num-
ber,” and click! the connection was cut.
By violently agitating the receiver Greg succeeded
in getting the operator at the Stickney Arms. He
asked for Frank, the hall-boy. This was what he
ought to have done in the beginning. He had only
wasted a precious two minutes, and put Bianca on her
guard.
“This you, Frank? This is the fellow who passes
you notes for the little Spanish lady, do you get me?
I gave you a little package this afternoon.”
“Sure, I know you, boss.”
“Listen; go quick to her apartment—don't tele-


De Socotra Hires T70II Again 203
“You gave her my message?”
“Yes, just now.”
“Only just now! It was a good five minutes ago!”
“I know. It wasn't my fault. They kept me wait-
ing at the door. I suppose the girl had to wait for a
chance to slip her word.”
“You should have told the maid! She's safe.”
“How was I to know that?”
“Is she out of the place?”
“No, she went back for something.”
Greg groaned. “Then it's too late. He's just gone
up.”
The boy whistled.
Greg jumped for the elevator. But the boy hung
back. Greg was too disreputable looking for the Stick-
ney Arms. During that pause from somewhere far
up in the building the sound of a slammed door came
down the stair well.
“Take me up!” cried Greg. “How do you run this
damned thing!”
A signal showed on the telephone switchboard.
“His number!” said one of the boys springing to an-
swer, and Greg paused.
“Yes, sir, all right, sir,” stammered the boy at the
board.
He jumped up breathless with excitement. “The
Spanish gent! He says the girl's run out. He says
she's not herself. He says stop her. And one of us
go up and bring him down.”
The elevator signal was already ringing continu-
ously. Greg stepped out. He cast a significant glance
around from boy to boy.


204 The Owl Taxi
“My cab's just beyond the door. A fiver to each of
you fellows if she gets in it safe!”
He ran outside and waited for her in his cab, the
door standing open, his foot ready to let in the clutch
the moment she jumped in. But the seconds passed
and she did not appear. Looking anxiously out and
back he saw de Socotra come to the door of the apart-
ment house with the four boys at his heels. He heard
him say:
“I tell you, she came down-stairs.”
“She didn't pass this way, sir.”
From the head of the steps they looked uncertainly
up and down the street, and then went back into the
building. Greg had drawn back out of sight. A
moment later another cab drew up behind Greg, and
two men got out. It was the puffy Abanez and another
of the gang. At the same instant Amy, bareheaded,
came running like a deer around the corner out of
Ninety-fourth Street. The two men stared, rooted to
the pavement in astonishment. Amy ran on to Greg's
cab, but at the sight of the strange face, she drew
back.
“It's all right,” he whispered swiftly. “It is I,
Greg.”
She climbed in, he slammed the door, and they were
off. De Socotra came running out of the building
again. He met the two men on the sidewalk. All
three jumped in the waiting cab and came on.


CHAPTER XIV
THROUGH THE STREETS
REG sped down the incline, made a wide turn
into the Drive and headed down-town. As they
circled they saw the other cab gathering headway. It
had a more powerful engine than Greg's, and was in
better condition. It ought to have overtaken Greg
easily, but as they straightened out in the Drive it did
not do so, but contented itself with maintaining a cer-
tain distance. Greg slowed down, and the following
cab did likewise. “What's their game?” Greg asked
himself a little anxiously.
He rapped on the glass behind him to attract Amy's
attention. She opened the door.
“All right back there?” he asked cheerily.
“I—I guess so,” was the somewhat shaky reply.
“Let down the front glass and we can talk better.”
She did so. -
“Have you got the little black book?” he asked
eagerly.
“No. I was surprised by his return. I dropped it
in the back of the piano.”
“No one saw you drop it there,—Bianca?”
“No, it's safe enough; if we can only find a way to
get it out again. Where can we go now?”
“To the yard.”
2O5


206 The Owl Taxi
“He will follow us there.”
“Let him. We have plenty of friends there. He'll
get a warm reception.”
They passed a policeman standing at the curb who
glanced at them casually as they passed. They were
not exceeding the speed limit now, or at least not by
much. The other cab was a short block behind. Amy,
who continually glanced back through the little win-
dow, gasped suddenly.
“Oh, they're stopping! . . . They're picking him
up.”
“Who, the policeman?” said Greg. “By God! de
Socotra has a nerve!” he added grimly.
“They're coming on again! Oh, faster! faster!”
Greg gave her all she would take. The old flivver
roared and rocked down the Drive, and the few pe-
destrians homeward bound stopped and stared at the
phenomenon. Most of the motor traffic was bound
in the opposite direction, and on his side of the road
Greg had a clear passage. The bright round globes
flashed past, the cars they passed seemed to be stand-
ing still. Greg prayed that his old tires would support
the strain. The flivver had long ago seen her best
days, and like an old horse she was scarcely making
the speed that the violence of her action would indi-
cate. Thirty miles was about her limit.
Through the little window in the back Amy kept
watch on their pursuers. “They're gaining on us!”
she said despairingly.
And indeed the bigger car drew up on them with
ease, once they let her out. De Socotra was leaning
far out of the window urging the driver on. The po-


208 The Owl Taxi
off the Drive the streets were deserted; into West End
Avenue, into another side street, into the Drive again.
A whole string of cars was stretched out behind him
now. Rarely had the sporty chauffeurs such a chance
to defy the speed laws. It was like pandemonium
sweeping through those astonished quiet streets. The
little flivver was like a mangy fox pursued by a pack of
sleek hounds.
Greg's tricks were of no avail. Having lost the ad-
vantage of his first turn, he could not shake them off.
Meanwhile his radiator had almost boiled dry, and
the exhausted flivver was missing badly and ever slow-
ing down.
“No go!” said Greg grimly at last. “I’ll only melt
down her bearings if I don't stop.”
He quietly drew up beside the curb on Riverside.
“Mind you are to say nothing!” Amy swiftly whis-
pered. “You are just a cabman that I happened to
pick up!”
“I can't let him carry you back!” Greg protested
scowling.
“You must!” she cried with desperate earnestness.
“If you don't do what I tell you, you will force me to
take his part against you!”
“How can I see you in his power!”
“You needn't fear for me,” she said proudly. “He
dare not injure me. I am not afraid of him!”
Very unwillingly, Greg gave in.
Their pursuers were upon them. The policeman, de
Socotra, Abanez and the fourth man leaped from the
second cab and ran up. The policeman laid a heavy
hand on Greg's shoulder and drew him to the pave-


Through the Streets 209
ment. De Socotra flung open the door of the flivver.
Within twenty seconds it seemed as if a crowd of hun-
dreds had gathered.
“My poor, poor child!” cried de Socotra in a heart-
breaking voice. “How could you act so !”
Amy made no reply.
“Don’t you know me?”
“I know you,” she said quietly.
He drew her gently out of the cab. “Come home
with me, dear,” he murmured, but not so softly but
that the crowd could hear and be impressed. “You’ll
be all right in the morning. Mamma is waiting for
you.”
Amy quietly submitted. Greg was boiling inwardly,
but he loyally obeyed her command to say nothing.
De Socotra drew Amy's arm tenderly under his own
and faced the policeman and the crowd. “She is not
herself,” he said in a deprecating, appealing voice. “It
is a nervous break-down. See how she ran out without
hat or coat in such weather. She didn't know what she
was doing.”
The crowd murmured in respectful sympathy.
De Socotra looked for the cab that had brought him.
“Come, dear, let us go home.”
“What will I do with this fellow, sir?” asked the
policeman. “Don’t you want to lay a complaint against
him?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said de Socotra, determined
to play the kindly gentleman to the end. “I don't sup-
pose he knew what he was doing.” Then for the first
time he appeared to recognize Greg. “Hello!” he


2IO The Owl Taxi
said, “aren't you the man who drove me earlier this
evening?”
There was nothing to be gained by denying it.
Greg nodded.
“How did you get in on this?” asked De Socotra.
Since he was forced to play the unwelcome part,
Greg played it as well as he could. “Well, after I
filled up my tank,” he said slyly, “I went on to the ad-
dress you gave me. Something seemed to be the mat-
ter, and I thought maybe you’d want me again. You
treated me liberal. Then the young lady came running
out. I didn't know she had anything to do with you.
She said she'd pay me anything I asked if I’d get her
away from there. I thought she was in distress-like.”
Greg was comforted by the sight of a gleam of ap-
proval in Amy's eyes. Whether or not de Socotra
really believed this yarn he could not tell from his
face. -
He feigned to believe it. “Too much melodrama!”
he said indulgently. “Let him go, officer.”
But the policeman hated to relinquish his capture.
“Why didn't you stop when I first told you?” he de-
manded.
Greg put on a hang-dog air. “Ah, she said he was
after her, that he wanted to do her some hurt.”
“Her own father!” put in de Socotra with a shocked
211".
“You saw me!” said the indignant officer. “You
ought to know I wouldn't stand for no rough stuff!”
“Well, I was excited-like,” muttered Greg.
“I had ought to take you in for speeding if for noth-
ing else! You ought to lose your license for that!”


2I2 The Owl Taxi
Drive. The bystanders remembered their suppers and
melted away.
Greg made the best time he could, for he was wildly
eager to get back to the Stickney Arms, but he had to
humor the old flivver now. She was like a broken-
winded horse. Stuyvesant Square, as everybody
knows, is one of the last haunts of old-fashioned re- .
spectability away down town. It was a good four
mile drive, and Greg chafed bitterly at the time he
was losing.
A broad and well-lighted street with a trolley line
bisects the Square, but around the sides it is dim, re-
spectable and lonely. Greg privately determined that
nothing should induce him to leave his cab. Greg
looked in vain for Number 92. Having made a com-
plete circuit of the Square he was satisfied there was
no such number.
He stopped and notified his fares. “Do you know
the house you want to go to?” he asked them.
Abanez replied: “Yes, it's on the east side. Drive
slowly up that side and I’ll point it out to you.”
Near the top of this side of the Square he called
Greg's attention to a tall narrow house with a brown-
stone front, and Greg drew up before it. No lights
showed in any of the windows; to Greg it looked like
an unoccupied house. His fares did not immediately
get out, and Greg looked around to see what they were
waiting for. The window behind him was still open.
“Wait a minute,” said Abanez, “we have not quite
finished our talk.”
At the moment the significance of this maneuver


Through the Streets 2I3
did not occur to Greg. Afterwards he remembered
that a man was passing on the sidewalk. They waited
until he turned the corner.
Without warning two hands from behind closed
around Greg's throat, cutting off the slightest outcry.
As his mouth, gasping for breath, instinctively opened,
two other hands forced a cotton gag between his teeth
and knotted it behind his head. Greg, struggling des-
perately but in vain, was dragged bodily back through
the window to the floor of the cab. There pinning his
body in an excruciating attitude between the two
doors, both knelt on him, effectually stilling his strug-
gles. Their flying light fingers patted him all over and
slipped in and out of his pockets, less like human fingers
than evil little animals sniffing for prey. Greg's money
they did not disturb; they were after a bigger prize.
Besides what little money he carried, there was nothing
upon him but his license cards. They desisted.
Abanez spoke to the other man who, careless of
what part of Greg's anatomy his feet rested on, stood
up and leaning through the front window thoroughly
searched around and under the front seat. Unre-
warded here, he dropped back on Greg. The two men
then held a short colloquy in Spanish, but there was one
English word terribly significant: “black-jack.”
Greg sensed the up-lifted arm and held his breath.
The blow descended, but did not fall true. It struck
Greg merely a glancing blow on the side of the head.
He retained the wit to grunt hollowly and let his body
go slack. The man who had struck Greg said some-
thing to Abanez, and Abanez laughed in a comfortable
fat way that roused a blind fury in Greg. But he lay


2I4 The Owl Taxi
still. Opening the door they climbed over Greg and
slammed the door after them.
Greg gave them a second or two, then sitting up he
peered cautiously over the sill of the window. The
two men were sauntering deliberately towards the
COr1161".
“Cool hands!” thought Greg with a kind of wonder.
As they turned they glanced carelessly back. Greg
took care not to be seen. He waited a quarter of a
minute, then slipping out-of the cab and running on his
toes to the corner he flattened himself against the
building there and peeped around. His men were still
proceeding down this street with the air of gentlemen
with time to kill. A third of the way down the block
they paused, looked around to make sure they were not
being followed, and mounted the steps of a house.
Greg marked the house well. The street was Seven-
teenth and the house from its position must be number
716. This was the house from which earlier in the
day de Socotra had issued with the little black book.
It must be the new headquarters of the gang.
Greg returned to his cab. Stuyvesant Square is not
very far from Gibbon Street, and it occurred to Greg
that if he went home and changed his clothes, he would
be in a better position to keep tab on de Socotra's later
activities that night. Moreover he could get plenty
of help at the yard; he would almost surely need help
1ater. To think of it was to act on it. In three min-
utes he was driving into the yard.
- Bessie's Warm, bright kitchen looked very good to
him "ing in from the cold, and the smell of hot food
made his head swim. There is nothing more exhaust-


Through the Streets 2I5
ing than violent excitement. But he had no intention
of stopping to eat. Hickey, Pa Simmons, Blossom,
Ginger McAfee, and Bull Tandy were all seated
around the oil-cloth-covered board.
All exclaimed at the sight of him. Even under the
grotesque make-up they could perceive the strained
grimness of Greg's face. Moreover there was a trickle
of blood running down in front on one ear.
“What's happened?” cried Hickey.
“Plenty,” said Greg laconically. “Can't stop to tell
you now. Hurry up and finish eating, you fellows, if
you want to get in on it. I'll need you to-night before
I'm through. Blossom, you've got to play the part of
a piano tuner. Come up and try on one of my suits.”
“Sit down and eat yourself,” said Bessie. “You’ve
got to eat, or you can't keep up the pace.”
“Make me up a couple of sandwiches like a good
girl, and I'll eat them as I go.”
“I’m through,” said Hickey jumping up. “What's
for me to do?”
“Go out and flood the flivver with oil. The old
girl's had a stiff race, and she may have a worse one
before her.”
In a quarter of an hour Greg was once more the
elegantly dressed young man of the town, while Blos-
som was giving a fair imitation of an artisan. He was
provided with a bag of simple tools. Back in the
kitchen Greg made his dispositions for the night.
“Hickey, you'll drive me. We may need a second
car. Pa, you come along. Blossom can ride with you.
We're going to the Stickney Arms first. You just fol-
low Hickey, Pa, and stop when he stops.”


2I6 The Owl Taxi
“How about me?” asked Bull Tandy discontentedly.
“Where do I come in? Say, if you want any strong-
arm work I can put them guys” (referring to Messrs.
Hickey, Blossom and Simmons) “over me head with
one arm.”
“Me, too,” said little Ginger McAfee. “You ain't
goin' to leave me out of the fun, are you, Greg? Bull's
all right with his strong arm, but strong-arms are com-
mon; you want a man with a sharp head on him like
me.”
“Don’t you want to come too, Bessie?” Greg grimly
asked.
“I’ll stop in me kitchen, thankee,” said she dryly.
“Very like you'll be wantin' hot cawfee when you come
home, and maybe bandages.”
Greg laughed. “Sorry, you fellows,” he said to Bull
and Ginger, “I can't use you right now. We'd only
get in each other's light. But God knows what this
night may turn up. You stay home—I'll make it good
to you 99
“Ah, we don't want no pay,” growled Bull.
“—And if I can use you later I'll send a 'phone mes-
sage through the drug-store.”
Hickey was out in the yard getting the flivver ready.
They heard a cry from him, and he appeared at the
door with an angry and grief-stricken face.
“Who cut my car?” he demanded.
Greg ran out and flashed his pocket-light inside the
body of the car. A woeful sight was revealed; seat
and back of the seat, pockets, even the carpet had been
wantonly slashed right and left by the disappointed
men in their vain search for the little black book.


Through the Streets 2I7
There was something indecent in the sight, as of an
old person mutilated. The men crowding to look
swore under their breaths.
“All right,” said Greg grimly. “They shall pay for
this with the rest. Come on now. We're wasting
precious time.”


Nina 2I9
dinner time, where discreet and perfectly-appointed
town cars were waiting at the doors to take the
Olympians out to dine.
Then circling the great new railway terminal they
sped on up the newer Park Avenue with its empty
spaces between the brand-new mighty apartment houses
reaching Heavenwards, and with rents in accordance.
They turned through Fifty-ninth Street, a narrow hy-
brid street of book-shops, studio-warrens, lunch coun-
ters and red trolley cars, and emerging at the Plaza,
seat of fashion again, cut diagonally across the Park,
where the night breathed quietly, and emerging at the
West Seventy-second Street entrance, made their way
to Riverside Drive, the Heaven of the unfashionable
well-to-do and Manhattan's finest night-piece, where
the street lights, the naked trees, the stars, the gleam-
ing river and the twinkling lights on the further shore
made an unforgettable harmony.
As they traveled Greg leaned forward on the sill
of the front window, and while gratefully biting into
Bessie's thick sandwiches told Hickey all that had hap-
pened during the afternoon. Hickey kept up a sort
of terrified, delighted comment on the tale. Hickey
made no pretensions to be a man of courage, but Greg
had learned by this that he was quite as dependable as
many a braggart.
“You opened her up on Riverside—and him after
you and a lot of other cars and all! Oh Lordy! . . .
He picked up a cop, and still you didn't stop! It's a
wonder he didn't pull his gun on you! . . . All around
through the streets! It's lucky it wasn't me at the
wheel! I'd have fainted clean away!”


220 The Owl Taxi
Presently Hickey asked nervously: “What's the pro-
gram for to-night? Any more hold-ups or runaways?
I tell you the flivver ain't runnin' so good.” -
“I can't tell,” said Greg. “We have to be ready for
anything.”
“Lordy! I see my finish !” said Hickey.
Greg made him stop in the block below the Stickney
Arms. Pa Simmons drew up behind. The four men
gathered together, and Greg issued his instructions.
“You all wait here with the cabs. Shut off your en-
gines. I'll go ahead and look over the ground. If
I have to stay on watch I'll take cover in that clump
of bushes opposite the entrance. Keep your eye on me.
If I want you in a hurry I'll signal with my pocket
flash. One flash, start your engines; two flashes move
your cars up; three flashes shut your engines off; four
flashes come on foot on the run.”
After making them repeat this code after him, Greg
went on to the apartment house. First from across
the road he took a survey of the windows of the de
Socotra apartment. All the windows including Amy's
were lighted. This was reassuring since it suggested
they were still within, Greg then boldly entered the
building. To his disappointment he saw that another
shift of servants was now on duty in the hall. This
meant that new relations must be established. But
proceeding further back, to his joy he discovered
Frank, now shorn of his gorgeous livery, sitting in an
inconspicuous corner under the stairs.
Frank seemed no less glad to see Greg. Eagerly
coming forward he said: “I was looking for you, boss.


Nina 22I
It's my time off, but I thought there'd be somepin doing
to-night, so I just stuck around.”
“Good man!” said Greg.
“On the level, was it you here this afternoon, made
up like a bum taxi-driver and all?”
“That was me,” said Greg.
The boy's eyes sparkled with admiration. “Gee!
you're some sport, fellow. You deserve to get her!
That was some chase you give them. We watched it
from the door as far as we could see down the Drive.
But the old man got her back off you. Tough luck!”
“Well, I'll have another try to-night,” said Greg.
“Say, count me in on it,” begged Frank. “I don't
care if I do lose me job!”
Greg's heart warmed towards the boy. “Much
obliged,” he said. “I shan't forget it. But I’ve al-
ready got my gang outside.”
“Gee!” cried Frank. “Somepin doin’ all right!
I'm glad I didn't go home!”
“Is the family all up-stairs?” asked Greg.
Frank nodded.
“Find out who he's been telephoning to, will you?
I suppose the operator's been listening in.”
“You bet we ain't losing nothing from that apart-
ment now. I can tell you without asking him. The
Spanish bloke's been telephoning to a doctor guy that
runs a sanitarium-like on Eighty-third Street; I took
down the address for you; it's Doctor Tasker, 411
West Eighty-third. Seems her old man's going to
take her there to-night. He's trying to make out she's
looney.”
“I know,” Greg said. “Can I get up-stairs by the


224 The Owl Taxi
know. The Señora say: “Poor child, I'll go with you.”
He say: ‘Better let me speak to her first, my dear.”
He go to her room. I listen outside the door.
“Señorita Amélie say: “Francisco, I 'ope I didn't
upset your plans by sending you that telegram. Maybe
you will think I am foolish, but I cannot stand it an-
other hour!' Señor Francisco say: “For God's sake,
what's the matter? You'll have to be quick, my dear,
I only got five minutes. She say: “It's Bianca. I can-
not stand that woman!'
“Señor Francisco is moch surprise'. He say:
‘What's the matter with Bianca?” The Señorita say:
‘I don' like her. Neither does mamma. Why do we
have to put up with her? In Managuay she wouldn't
think of coming to our house, but here she lives with
us. She is like a spy. She watch everything I do.
She will not let me be alone for a minute!' Here the
Señorita change her voice. She say: “Why, Francisco,
there's a spot of grease on your coat! You can't go
away like that! Let Nina rub it out. He say: ‘I can't
wait now. She say: “It won't take a minute.’
“Well, I hear her comin' to the door, and I ran
down the hall a little way. She open the door, she see
me, but she call as if I long way off: ‘Nina! Quick!’
I run to her. She say: ‘Rub out this spot! Be quick!
Two minutes! Señor Francisco has a train!' She look
at me hard. I understand.
“I run to the kitchen. I find the little black book in
his pocket. I change it with the one in my dress. I
rub a little cleaner on the coat to make it smell. I
take the coat back. I hold it while Señor Francisco
slip his arms through. I see him give his breast a little


Nina 225
pat to see if the book is there. He is sayin' to the
Señorita: “My dear Amélie, I've got to catch the six
o'clock train. I can’t make any change now. But I'll
be back day after to-morrow. We'll see then.’
“So he goes. I give the little black book to my
mistress. She is like crazy for joy. She give me her
amethyst pin for my own. Before she can read the
book, Señorita Bianca knock at the door. She hide it.
Well, I go to dress the Señora for dinner. I am with
her when the door bell ring. I go to the door. It is
that bell-boy, Frank.
“He say he got to see Señorita Amélie quick. He
got an important message for her. I know that Señor-
ita Bianca is with her, so I say: ‘Tell it to me.’ He
say: (Nina's unconscious imitation of Frank was comi-
cal to see) ‘Nix, girlie, this is for her own private ear.”
So I go back to my mistress's room, but the spy-woman
is still there. That's what I call her. I hate her! I
try to make Señorita Amélie look at me, but she will
not. Señorita Bianca say: “Who was that at the door,
Nina?" She don't miss nothing. I say: “Just the boy
with the evening paper. She say: ‘You needn't wait,
Nina. I'm going to help Amélie dress. I'm talking
to her.’
“Well, I don’ know what to do then. I wait around.
Señorita Bianca tell me to go again. But still I wait.
At last Señorita Amélie look at me. She see by my
face that somesing's the matter. Then I go out. In a
minute she come. I tell her go to the door quick.
There is a boy waiting.
“She speak to the boy. Right away she come run-
ning back from the door with a hard face. She say


226 The Owl Taxi
to me: “Quick, Ninal A warm coat and a plain hat!’
Señorita Bianca come out and ask what is the matter,
but Señorita Amélie not answer; she run in her room.
Before I can move I hear a key in the front door. It
bang open, and Señor Francisco run in. Madre de
Dios/ what a face | It is a madman I am turned to
wood where I stand! He shake his fist to me and
curse. I think I die then. He say: ‘Get out! before
I hurt you!' But I cannot move for fear.
“Señorita Bianca ask him what's the matter, but he
not answer her. He run down the hall to my mistress's
room; he slam the door open and run in. My heart
runs away like water. I think he kill her. But there
is another door from her room to the salon—living-
room. She slip into that room quiet. When the Señor
run into her room she run out of the living-room and
down the hall to me. Señorita Bianca try to stop her.
I give Bianca a push, and she sit down hard. I run
after my Señorita. I whisper to her: “Go to the roof.”
I know the roof because the clothes are dried there.
“Señor Francisco come out of the living-room as my
mistress go out the front door. He telephone down-
stairs to stop her. He did not think of the roof. I
run hide in my room. When I hear him slam the door
I run out again. I run to the salon and look out of
the window. The Señora and Señorita Bianca lean
out of other windows. The Señora say like a person
in a dream: ‘What is the matter? Oh, what is the
matter?” Bianca say: ‘I think Amélie has lost her
mind!'
“Well, I guess you know what happen after that.
From the window I see Señor Francisco come out and


CHAPTER XVI
THE “PSYCHOPATHIC SANITARIUM”
REG said to Nina: “Wait here till I come back
or send for you.” *
“Boss, let me in on this,” begged Frank.
“Very well, come with me,” said Greg.
They went out via the basement door of the build-
ing which led to the side street. The Stickney Arms
as has already been described fronted on a narrow
roadway which was terraced above the Drive proper.
There was a sloping sward between roadway and
Drive, which was set out with clumps of ornamental
shrubbery. One such clump across the road from the
main entrance offered Greg an ideal observation post.
First he took Frank to the two cabs and the wait-
ing men. “This boy is one of us,” he said. “Let him
wait with you until I give you a signal. Get in the
cabs out of sight.”
By a roundabout course Greg made his way to his
place of concealment. Presently the cab ordered by
de Socotra drove up. A moment or two later a little
procession appeared in the corridor: de Socotra ten-
derly supporting Amy on one side, and a trained nurse
on the other,—“Where did she come from?” thought
Greg. Two hall-boys, laden with rugs, valises, etc.,
brought up the rear.
228


The “Psychopathic Sanitarium” 229
As they drew closer, in the nurse Greg suddenly
recognized the handsome, hard features of Bianca.
“Of course !” he thought. “De Socotra would never
trust Amy in an institution without his own personal
spy to keep watch of her.” Greg smiled in satisfac-
tion. This meant that they were leaving the innocent
Señora de Socotra alone in the apartment, making his
task a hundred times easier. All the luck was not
against him to-night.
He let them drive away without making any signal
to his men. Since he knew where they were going,
there was no especial hurry. The cab turned into the
drive and headed down-town. Greg joined his ex-
pectant men and issued his instructions.
“Frank, you go back to Nina and tell her they're all
gone out except the old lady. She must be pretty near
distracted by what's happened. She'll be glad enough
to have Nina back for company. Tell Nina to go
right up-stairs on the pretext of getting her things.
Tell her I’m sending in one of my men who will claim
to be the piano man, and that she is to let him in
and help him. By the way, what is the name of the
people who own that apartment?”
“Merriweather.”
“Good. Blossom will say that Mr. Merriweather
made an arrangement to have the piano inspected
monthly. And he can explain the lateness of his call
by saying—let me see—I have it! Blossom will say
that his baby is going to be christened to-morrow, and
he's doubling up his work to-day, so that he can get a
day off. Nothing like a little touch of homeliness to
make a story carry!”


The “Psychopathic Sanitarium” 233
only has his visiting hours. Doctor Emslie is the resi-
dent.”
“I would like to see him,” said Greg.
As he stepped into the house, he observed that an
arch had been cut through the party wall into the
house on the left, thus throwing the two houses into
one. He was shown into a rather luxurious office at
the back in which a blonde, bearded man was working
at a desk. However, the eagerness with which he
looked up suggested that he was not very closely ab-
sorbed in his work.
He was a handsome man, yet Greg instinctively dis-
liked him. He was too fat, too red-lipped, too anxious
to please. Greg's involuntary verdict was: “Too soft
to go out and work up a practice for himself, so he
takes an easy thing like this. This man would close
his eyes to anything in order not to risk losing his
job.” Greg made up his mind that the truth would not
serve here, and he essayed the rôle of the saddened
relative again.
“I have just learned that my poor cousin has suf-
fered a nervous break-down and has been brought
here,” he said.
“Ah!” said Doctor Emslie orotundly. “What
name, please?” He opened a book on his desk, a sort
of ledger. This was merely a bit of by-play of course,
for he must have had by heart the names of all the
patients in that little place.
“Señorita de Socotra,” said Greg.
“You have been misinformed,” said the doctor.
“No such person here.”
Greg was taken aback for the moment. He had


234 The Owl Taxi
made a bad start. But he looked up as if an idea had
occurred to him. “Perhaps an assumed name was
given—to spare the family, you know. I'm sure she
was brought here, a young Spanish-American lady.
She is here, isn't she?”
But the doctor had taken alarm. A wary look ap-
peared in his moist blue eyes. Greg guessed that de
Socotra's picturesque personality, not to speak of de
Socotra's pocket-book, had won his allegiance. He
did not answer Greg directly but said suggestively:
“Spanish-American and your cousin?”
“Half Spanish-American I should have said. Her
father was an American.”
“Ah,” said Doctor Emslie, and Greg saw that he
had only damaged his own case further.
“The gentleman who brought her here was not her
real but her adopted father,” he explained.
The doctor smiled politely. Greg saw that he did
not believe a word of it. “Without saying whether
or not there is any such person here,” he said smoothly,
“may I ask what your purpose is in asking?”
“I want to see her.”
The doctor shrugged expressively. “My dear sir!
Under no circumstances could I allow that without
the express authorization of her own physician, or of
her nearest relative. We have to be especially careful
with the kind of cases that we treat. Visits are apt
to be so exciting.”
Greg saw that it was hopeless to try to persuade
him, but he sparred for time a little. The ledger or
case-record was still open on the desk, and Greg was
trying to read the latest entry upside down.


The “Psychopathic Sanitarium” 235
“Just for a moment!” he begged. “You could be
present. My poor little cousin! I merely want to
see if there is anything she needs!”
Dr. Emslie stood up as a gentle hint. “You may
rest assured that everything possible is being done for
her,” he said,—“I mean if she is here,” he added, see-
ing that he had made a slip. “Go to her father, or
her step-father, as the case may be, and if it was here
that he brought her, he will of course authorize me to
let you see her.”
By this time Greg had succeeded in reading at least
part of the entry. The name was Clelie Mendizabal.
This odd name had stuck fast in Greg's memory. It
was the name Bianca Guiterrez had given him in the
Ninth Street house. “A family pseudonym,” Greg
thought, “that is made to serve all kinds of purposes.”
Following the name came various particulars that Greg
had not time to decipher. He was chiefly interested
in a number written in bold characters: 16. He guessed
that to be the number of Amy's room in the house.
Meanwhile Doctor Emslie was blandly ushering him
towards the door. They parted politely at the
threshold of the room; the doctor went back to his
desk. As Greg progressed towards the front door, not
much wiser than when he had entered, the good-look-
ing maid opened it to admit another visitor. This was
a sad-faced woman carrying a little package upright
with care, evidently a delicacy for a patient.
She nodded to the maid with the air of a frequent
visitor and continued on up the stairs.
The incident gave Greg an idea. As she held the
door open for him to pass out, he gave the maid a


236 The Owl Taxi
dollar. She accepted it as one who had a just sense
of her own worth. Still with the air of a saddened
relative Greg said:
“I expect you'll see me often after this. Which
house is number 16 in P”
“This house, sir. First floor front.”
Greg got in the flivver and had Hickey take him
down to Columbus Avenue where he searched for a del-
icatessen store and bought a pot of jelly. Leaving
Hickey at the corner he returned to the sanitarium on
foot. When the maid opened the door to him, he
nodded as to an old acquaintance, and holding his
pot of jelly carefully upright said:
“I’ll go right up.”
At first she made as if to block the way, but his
smiling assurance overawed her. She gave way. He
mounted deliberately, and passed out of sight around
the bend to the first landing. There were four doors
on the landing. They were numbered, but even if
they had not been, “first-floor front” was an exact de-
scription to any one familiar with New York houses.
Greg knocked on the door of 16 with a fast beating
heart.
The door was opened by Bianca in her nurse's dress.
Things happened quickly after that. She instantly
recognized him and attempted to slam the door, but
Greg had put his foot in the jamb. Through the crack
he caught a glimpse of Amy sitting in a disconsolate
attitude by the fire. Putting his shoulder against the
door he heaved with all his strength and Bianca gave
way suddenly. He walked into the room. Bianca ran
out into the hall screaming for help.


238 The Owl Taxi
The three men made to obey; the orderlies were
a brawny, hardy pair. Greg's heart sunk—not at the
fear of being hurt, but at the intolerable prospect of
having Amy see him physically humiliated. He put
his back against the wall.
“Keep your hands off me,” he said in a dangerous
voice, “and I'll go.” To the doctor he added sig-
nificantly: “Call them off if you don't want a nasty
row in the house.”
It worked. The plump doctor quailed at the
thought of a row. “Let him alone,” he muttered,
“if he'll go quietly.”
Greg strode out of the room and down the stairs
as deliberately and coolly as he had gone up. The
three men pressed close after him, longing to throw
him down headlong, but not daring. At the foot of
the stairs curiosity got the better of the plump doc-
tor and he changed his tone.
“Come into the office,” he said, “and let's talk
things over.” f
“Go to Hell,” said Greg.


CHAPTER XVII
THE YOUNG MAN WITH THE LITTLE BLACK MUSTACHE
S Greg proceeded along the street to rejoin
Hickey, he measured with his eye the distance
from the porch floors to the window overhead. All
the houses were of the same design. “Twelve feet,”
he said to himself; “a ten-foot ladder will do.”
“Let's go home,” he said to Hickey. “We’ve got
to lay plans for an attack after midnight.”
“An attack! Good Lord!” said Hickey apprehen.
sively.
“Hickey, where can we get a ten-foot ladder?”
“There's ladders lying around the yard.”
“That simplifies matters.”
“Are you countin' on carrying a ladder through the
streets after midnight? No cop would let you by.”
“Ay, there's the rub, as friend Hamlet says. We
might cut it in half and rig it as an extension ladder.
Then we could carry it inside.”
“How about a window-cleaner's ladder? That
works up and down on ropes.”
“Excellent idea! Do you know any window-clean-
ers?”
“No, but it's only eight o'clock. The big stores
are open for the Christmas trade. You can get most
anything at Macymaker's.”
239


24OP The Owl Taxi
“Hick", "metimes you display almost human i.
telliger***. En *ant to Macymaker's I"
Súx-e enough in the house-furnishing department c
that ~ ** "Porium, Greg found what he wante.
The salesman wondered perhaps that any one shoul
pick <> *," "dow-cleaner's ladder for a Christma
prese rat, but Greg was not worrying about what th
salesraan might think. With a couple of sheets c
store P*P* **pped about it, and tied with twin
the 1 a. d.der was sufficiently disguised, so that there wa
little <danger of the most zealous policeman's susp
cions being aroused by the sight of it.
As he and Hickey tied it on top of the flivver ou
side • Greg said with a chuckle: “Burglary made easy!
ic'y shivered. “Don’t use such ugly-soundin
wor-cis I" he begged.
T Hey went on.
have time on Our
anci let the old
la civ-”
The phanta
Greg offered Hickey a cigar. “W
hands now,” he said. “Light u
girl trundle home at her ease like
*agoria of Houston Street was sprea
#. £e: ***in. Here was Christmas shopping c
<ied alo " sort. End to end the push-carts e.
£: displ "g the curb lighted by smoky kerosene flar
: ..'ng *n amazing variety of wares from se
£: c1+led in ' ..”itation ermine furs” down to appl.
#. 1- gely by '. The pavement was literally packe
t H = room of *son of the fat shoppers who took u
• three or four.
•Coming
ci terment in ''Wards them they perceived a stir of e
the throng. A big policeman was slow


The Young Man With the Mustache 24I
forcing his way through, presumably urging before
him some unfortunate they could not see. In the po-
liceman's wake was a struggling procession of those
who were trying to get a look. The quality of ex-
citement in their faces suggested that the affair was
something out of the common.
As Greg and Hickey passed abreast of the police-
man the crowd opened for a moment, and they had
a brief glimpse of the man he had in charge. They
saw the slight and sagging figure of a young man with
small features. His face was greenish; he shambled
along with eyes half-closed. His hat was gone, and
to their surprise they saw that his clothes were
drenched. They were near the river.
“A would-be suicide,” said Greg. “Poor devil!”
An odd little grunt escaped from Hickey, and he
brought the cab to a stop with a jerk.
“What's up?” asked Greg.
“That—that face,” stammered Hickey.
“What of it?”
“I’ve been looking for it for three days by your
orders. That's the fellow with the little black mus-
tache, who hired me on the pier that night.”
Greg was effectually galvanized into action. Slip-
ping out of his seat, he said: “Turn the first corner
to the right, and wait for me in the side street. I'll
look after him. He doesn't know me.”
Greg ran down the roadway until he got in ad-
vance of the policeman; then forcing his way through
the crowd, who gave way before his determined air,
he fronted the officer.


242 The Owl Taxi
“Beg pardon, officer. I think I know this man.
What's he done?”
Greg's good clothes and assured air were not with-
out their effect. The policeman was disposed to be
complaisant. “Attempted suicide. Jumped off a
Houston Street ferry, he did. A deckhand pulled
him out.”
The crowd, delighted to receive exact information
as to the affair, waited open-mouthed for more. The
prisoner glanced at Greg with indifferent, lack-luster
eyes. He said nothing. -
“He’s soaking wet,” said Greg. “And at this time
of year 35
“I'm keeping him walking,” said the blue-coat.
“And the station is but a block away. We'll give
him blankets there.”
Greg fell into step beside the policeman. “Poor
devil! Are you obliged to lay a charge against him?”
“They always do. Attempted suicide's a crime.”
“But nobody's ever sent to jail for it.”
“If I let him go he might try it again.”
“Four days to Christmas, officer. Let me take care
of him. I'll give him a square meal and a bed. I’ve
got a cab around the corner. I'll take him home in
that.”
Voices from the crowd said: “Aw, let him go.
It's Christmas. He ain't harmed nobody but him-
self.” *
The blue-coat was a bit nettled by the implication
of hard-heartedness. “”Tain't nothin' to me,” he
said. “Come on to the station, and if the loot'nant
says all right, all right.”


The Young Man With the Mustache 243
“I’ll be there,” said Greg. “You take him on, and
I'll get my cab.”
Greg and Hickey doubled back through the next
street and were already at the station-house door when
the officer arrived with his prisoner. Greg had no
great difficulty in persuading the good-natured officer
at the desk to let the wretched young man go. The
inconsistency of arresting a man for trying to kill him-
self cannot but be apparent to all. It is something
that he cannot be prevented from doing if he wants
to. A mumbled promise was extracted from the pris-
oner that he would not try it again, and he was handed
over to Greg's care.
Wrapping him in the lap-robe, Greg bundled him
into the flivver and they drove off amid the plaudits
of the crowd gathered around the station-house steps.
The young man did not come face to face with Hickey.
Greg felt a little shamefaced that the people should
think he was playing the part of the good Samaritan.
“If they knew !” he thought. “It’s only out of the
frying pan into the fire for him, poor wretch!”
As the cab started the young man never so much as
looked up. He half sat, half lay in the corner of the
cab like an old man in whom the last spark of life
is almost quenched. His eyes were open, yet they
saw nothing. He seemed to be quite indifferent as to
where Greg was taking him; he seemed not to care
whether he were in jail or out again. Greg, who
had never seen a human creature so beaten down,
scarcely knew how to act towards him. His heart
was touched by the sight of such utter wretchedness,
but to offer him sympathy would have been both cruel


The Young Man With the Mustache 247
“Nothing at present except to put a little life into
you.”
“In order to take it away from me later?”
Greg, taken aback, said: “It isn't your life that
I want.”
The poor wretch shuddered. “I thought I saw a
man down-stairs—or did I dream it? A cab-man—”
Greg saw nothing was to be gained by further con-
cealment. “You saw him,” he said. “It was the
cabman you engaged on the pier the night the Al-
lianca docked.”
The young man raised himself on his elbow. “Then
all is known?”
“Pretty nearly all.”
He fell back. “Well—I'm glad,” he said weakly.
“The worst agony is over.”
Presently he opened his eyes, attacked by a new
fear. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And those
others down-stairs? His men?”
“Whose?” asked Greg, perplexed.
“De Socotra’s.”
“No, by God!”
The recumbent figure relaxed. “Detectives, then?
I don’t mind that.”
“Not detectives, either,” said Greg. “I’ll tell you
this much—I'm after de Socotra. I know he's the
principal in this affair, not you. I only want you as
a means to get him.”
“You’ll never get him,” said de Silva with hope-
less assurance. “He’s not a man like others; he's a
fiend out of Hell.”
“That may be,” said Greg grimly. “But just the


248 The Owl Taxi
same I mean to get him! Better not talk any more.
Let yourself relax.”
“I’ve got to talk. I've kept it in too long. I'll
go out of my mind if I don't talk. I think I'm losing
my mind anyway I've been in Hell the last three
days. Couldn't think what I was doing. But only of
him. This is what they call being haunted maybe.
Not like books. All of a sudden his face comes be-
tween me and what I look at—nice old face with a
half-smile and quiet eyes. Oh God! Oh God! I
never can forget it now !
“I never set up to be any better than I was. It
isn't the first job I've done for different men. I sort
of got in the way of it young. Men sent for me
when they wanted something nervy done. I could
get away with anything because I was little and thin
and looked harmless. I had nerves of steel until this
happened. I was proud of my reputation.”
“Good God!” interrupted Greg aghast. “Do you
mean to say that murder was your trade?”
“Well, why not? It takes more nerve and clever-
ness than holding down an office stool. I liked the
spice of danger. And anyhow the men I put out be-
fore this one only got what was coming to them.
They were no better than them that wanted it done.
Fair game. I don't give a damn for any of the oth-
ers. They don't trouble my sleep. But this one—
Oh God! he's got me ! . . .
“I didn't know him beforehand. I was sent down
from New York to Central America to get next to
him. They told me he was a blackguard that was
trying to raise the niggers to cut Hell loose down


The Young Man With the Mustache 249
there. I was to get the job as his secretary because
I spoke Spanish and English, and come back to New
York with him. The job was to be done here.
“Well, we were on the ship together almost a week.
That was what queered me. He wanted to make
friends, see? He wouldn’t let me alone. God! it
raked me up and down with little sharp points—his
friendliness. It started me thinking, and I wasn't any
good to myself any more. He wasn't a preacher,
nothing like it. Just a jolly old gentleman who could
tell a story in the smoking-room as well as any man,
and laugh till his fat sides shook. . He liked me;
that's what got me. I couldn't make it out. Nobody
ever liked me before. He was always trying to make
me talk about myself. God! it scared me what I
found myself telling him ! I told him lots of funny
things—at night on deck. He didn’t mind; he didn't
blame me. He would only say: “Well, life's a queer
affair!' He didn't stop liking me. And I killed him!
Oh God, how I hate myself! . . .
“When we got to New York I was in no shape to
carry out my job. My nerve was gone. But I
couldn't turn back then. Always prided myself I
never failed to pull off a job. I thought I could work
myself up to it. And I did it. But my hand shook.
He looked at me as I gave him the needle. Just one
look!”
“How did you do it?” asked Greg.
“With a hypodermic needle. In the jugular here”
—he put a finger on his throat. “There was curare
in it. What the San Blas Indians dip their arrow-
points in. Kills like a hammer-stroke. De Socotra


− 50 The Owl Taxi
*Y", me the needle and
TE-vangled it. The cabma
TE-Y the curb. M
“Where did
showed me how.
n heard something and st
Y*rve was gone. I beat it.”
You go then?” asked Greg.


254 The Owl Taxi .
her, being Spanish,” said Blossom. “Miss Nina, she
translated it to her. At first the old lady looked
doubtful. She said I’d have to wait till Mr. Soakoater
come home. But when I told her I had three more
calls to make up in the Bronx, she said she guessed
it was all right. She was a nice old lady, not nat-
urally suspicious like. She was all broke up about
the little Miss being took away.
“She stayed in the parlor and watched while I
worked. I had to take the whole back off the piano.
There was sixteen screws in it, four to a side, and
every blame one of them stuck. I was sweating with
nervousness before I got the last one out, expecting
to hear his nibs in the hall any moment.
“When the little book dropped out on the floor,
‘What's that?’ says the old lady. “There it is!” says
I, real quick and glad-like. “My list of customers that
I lost the last time I was here! I been looking every-
where for it.’ ‘Let me see it,” says she. Sorry,
ma'am! says I, it's confidential; we ain't allowed to
show our lists to anybody.” Say, she was easy. It
was a shame to lie to her. She let me get away with it.
“Well, say, I put on that piano-back quicker than
I took it off—only one screw to a side. Then I beat
it for the basement. I breathed easier when I got
Out.
“I waited down-stairs for Miss Nina, and the two
of us made tracks for the subway at Ninety-sixth
Street. Somewhere on the way back the Spanish gent
must have picked us up, though I didn't notice him
at the time. Miss Nina and me was talking. I first
got on to it that there was something funny when we


256 The Owl Taxi
“I was hoping the Spaniard would wait outside for
us, and we could sneak out the back way, but not on
your life! He followed us right through. So we
went on down Thirteenth, and I cut into the back en-
trance of a big store, hoping to lose him in the crowd.
But he stuck closer than a brother—up-stairs, down
in the basement, out on Fourteenth Street again. By
this time he must have guessed of course that we were
on to him.
“Next I went back to the subway again. I took
him up to Times Square, but I couldn't shake him in
the crowds there, neither. Well, I tried the subway
once more and this time I had a bit of luck. There
was a big crowd coming and going, and as we got
down to the down-town platform there was a train on
each side, express and local. The local was just open-
ing her doors.
“I steered Miss Nina aboard the local, and the
Spaniard got on by another door. I watched my
chance, and just as they were ready to close the doors
of the express I grabbed the girl, hustled her acrost
the platform and into the other train, and the door
closed behind us. It took the Spanish gent by sur-
prise. He run too, for the next door, but it closed
in his face.”
“Good work!” said Greg.
“Wait a minute! I ain't told you the funny part
yet. The train started and we was carried right past
the Spaniard close enough to touch him only the other
side of the glass. Well, I couldn't help having a bit
of sport with him. I knew anyway he knew what
I'd been up to as soon as he went home and the old


Blossom's Report 257
lady told him. So as we passed by I held up the little
black book; like that, right before his nose.”
“The deuce you did!” cried Greg delightedly.
“Wait a bit! It didn't get acrost like I expected.
He give me the laugh first. Yes, sir, threw back his
head, and laughed fit to die. What do you know
about that?”
“Just a bluff,” said Greg.
Blossom shook his head positively. “No, sir, I
know a real laugh when I see it!”
“But here is the book,” said Greg.
“Just the same, he thinks he has us, somehow.”
Blossom's words carried conviction, and Greg's feel-
ing of triumph was considerably dashed. “I wish
Estuban was here,” he said.


CHAPTER XIX
THE ABDUCTION
HOUGH he had seen him but on the one occa-
sion, Greg had more confidence in Estuban than
in any of the taxi-drivers, good fellows though they
were. He much desired Estuban's help on the dan-
gerous expedition he had planned, and waited for him
as long as he dared. But one o'clock drew near with-
out any sign of him, and in the end Greg had to go
without him.
He was in difficulties when it came to choosing a
man in Estuban's place. They all wanted to go; each
man loudly and shamelessly proclaimed his own su-
perior qualities. Greg finally decided to take them
all. It was possible he might need them, and if he
did not, they could remain in concealment in the cab.
He swore them by a mighty oath to obey him in the
smallest particular.
Meanwhile during the evening the old car had re-
ceived a grooming like an athlete before his supreme
race. From all the cabs in the yard the most nearly
new tires were borrowed; every nut was screwed home,
every wire tested. With black grease they smudged
the license plates so that the numbers were illegible.
Nor did they fail to test the extension ladder. After-
258


The Abduction 259
wards it was put back in its paper and tied on top of
the flivver.
On the way up-town all rode inside. The front
window was allowed to remain down, so that Hickey
could share in Greg's instructions and exhortations.
While he talked to them Greg was sizing up his men.
They showed their excitement in characteristic ways.
Bull Tandy smoked deep, and there was a calm and
delighted smile on his face; Blossom whistled inces-
santly through closed teeth; little Ginger twisted on
his seat like a restless schoolboy. “I’ll pick Bull for
the closest work,” thought Greg.
When they got to the corner of Columbus Avenue
and Eighty-third Street, Greg said to Hickey: “Drive
all the way through the block and come back again,
so that we can get a look over the whole ground.”
It was a long block down to Amsterdam Avenue,
more than a furlong. A slight hill rose towards the
middle of the block, and descended beyond. As Greg
had expected the neighborhood was absolutely de-
serted, scarcely a light to be seen the whole way. Num-
ber 411 was near the beginning of the block, the Co-
lumbus Avenue end. All the windows were dark, but
a dim light showed in the doorway, likewise in the
doorway of the connecting house.
Half-way through the block, that is to say, at the
top of the little hill, they came upon a stationary fig-
ure, an officer, but one whose gray coat differed from
the uniform of the city police. He was leaning back
with his elbows propped on a stone post, one heel
cocked up on a step, and his club dangling from its
thong.


The Abduction 26I
“You don’t have to be the burglars. You can be
the honest citizens who discover the crime.”
Ginger looked relieved. “Lay it out to us, part-
ner.”
“Listen carefully. First give Hickey three minutes
to get back through Eighty-fourth to Columbus again.
Then you show yourselves in Eighty-third Street.
Choose the last house on the north side. I don't know
who lives there; that doesn't make any difference.
Well, run out into the middle of the street and look
up at the windows. Run up the front steps and down
again. Run in and out the area way. The idea is
to give plenty of action, see?
“Well, the cop is standing up at the top of the hill
where he can look down both sides his beat. He'll
soon get on to you two milling around down there,
and he'll run down to see what's the matter. You tell
him you were walking up Amsterdam when you saw
a peculiar light in the basement of that house, and
looking through the windows you saw a fellow snoop-
ing around with a flashlight; handkerchief over his
face, hat pulled down—you know the stuff. And
afterwards he went up-stairs. Fix up the story any
way you like. You can tell a good story, Ginger.
“The cop will probably send you around to watch
the rear while he rouses the household and makes a
room-to-room search. It's hard on the people, but it
will bring a little excitement into their dull lives, any-
way. As soon as you get the cop all worked up you
make a quiet sneak, see? I only need a couple of
minutes to pull off my trick. Long before the ex-
citement down here dies down, we'll be safe away.”


262 The Owl Taxi
“We're on,” said Ginger and Blossom.
Greg, Hickey and Bull drove around the block and
returned to the corner of Columbus and Eighty-third,
where they stopped the cab before turning into the side
street. They could still see the private patrolman at
the top of the hill and they waited. Beyond him they
could not see for the hill, and they had the satisfac-
tion of knowing that once he ran down the other side
he could not see them.
Presently they chuckled to see him straighten up
and dart away down the hill. The scheme worked.
No one was in sight within the four blocks that
they commanded. They cut the ladder from its wrap-
pings and Greg and Bull took it, leaving Hickey with
the flivver. The engine was left running. Hickey
was to run up to them when Greg gave him a flash.
Greg and Bull were each armed with two short
lengths of wire. Reaching the two houses, Greg took
41 I and Bull 413. Running down the area steps they
wired the iron gates of the basement entrances fast
to their frames. Then springing up their respective
stoops they wired the two handles of the double doors
together. All this took but a minute, and effectually
safeguarded them against a surprise from within the
houses. This done, Greg carried the little ladder up
the steps of 413 and planted it under the bathroom
window. The street remained empty and silent.
While he worked Greg kept the tail of an eye on
the windows of Amy's room. He was not rewarded
by a sight of her face. He hoped she was watching
from farther back in the room. The bathroom win-
dow was raised an inch or two from the bottom. Bull


The Abduction 263
stood on the sidewalk with the handkerchief in one
hand and the flashlight in the other, ready to signal
to Hickey the instant Amy appeared.
When the ladder was in place Greg nodded to Bull
—all this was carried out in the full light of the moon
and of a street lamp almost in front of the house—
and Bull let the handkerchief flutter to the pavement.
They waited. The seconds passed. The suspense
was almost more than mortal nerves could bear. Greg
holding himself taut was glad that it was Bull he had
with him. Bull had no nerves. The seconds passed,
and there was no sound or movement from above.
The sickening conviction took shape in Greg's breast
that something had gone wrong. Amy of her own
free will would never keep them waiting at such a
juncture.
Suddenly Bull with a warning gesture darted noise-
lessly down the area steps. At the same moment Greg
heard brisk footsteps coming up the street. Some-
body had turned the corner from Columbus Avenue.
Greg swiftly telescoped the ladder and carried it in-
side the vestibule. Closing half the storm door, he
concealed himself behind it, and lived through a hor-
rible moment or two. Suppose this person were bound
for the Sanitarium?
But he passed by whistling softly, all unaware of
the drama he had interrupted. Greg had a glimpse
of his disappearing back; a young back with a debonair
swing to it, a lover, perhaps, returning from his lady.
They had to wait until he mounted the steps of one
of the houses above. Then Greg joined Bull.


264 The Owl Taxi
“Something's gone wrong,” he whispered. “I’m
going in to see.”
“Into the house ! Good God!” said Bull.
Greg was no less appalled by the task than he.
“Got to be done,” he said. “Go down and get
Hickey. Let him bring the cab up softly. If we
signal he'll come up with the cut-out roaring. It's
all or nothing within the next three minutes. If I
am not out again by the time you come back with
Hickey, you are to follow me in. Are you game
for it?”
Bull nodded. “I am, if you are.”
Bull left him. Greg looked up and down. No
one was in sight. He mounted the steps and brought
out the ladder again. In the light of the street lamp
he felt as conspicuous as a naked man in a dream, yet
to put the light out would have only been to call at-
tention to the spot where it had been. To tell the
truth he had no stomach for this job, but his resolu-
tion held him to it. Amy depended on him.
With a thumping heart he mounted the ladder. It
creaked like a rusty wheel. But no matter if he waked
the entire block now, he had to go on. At the top
he put his hands under the window and threw it up.
There was no time to open it with care. It would
all be over in a minute anyway. He flung a leg over
the sill and entered the bathroom. A rapid survey
of the windows across the street revealed no scared
white face watching him.
The door into the bedroom was closed. He opened
it as softly as he could. The light from the street
lamp below was thrown strongly on the white ceiling,


The Abduction 265
and its reflection filled the room. He could see per-
fectly. The sight was photographed indelibly on his
brain; Amy lying motionless in her bed beside him,
and across the room Bianca sitting up in a cot bed, her
eyes fixed upon him wide with terror. She was too
terrified to scream; a little gasping cry escaped her;
she had no breath for more.
Greg sprang across the room, and clapping a hand
over her mouth, bore her back on her pillow. His
lightning glance at Amy told him she had been
drugged, and he felt no compunctions in dealing with
this other woman. Bianca struggled but feebly; ter-
ror held her in a partial paralysis. Greg's ears were
stretched for sounds from the house. He heard
quick, soft steps approaching the door, and his heart
misgave him. There was a little tap.
“Miss, did you call?”
Greg held his breath. He expected her to come
in. How could he deal with two women? She did
try the door, but it was locked. Greg's pent breath
softly escaped. After a moment the steps retreated.
He heard the scrape of a chair on the bare floor. Evi-
dently there was a nurse stationed at a desk out there.
Greg glanced over his shoulder at Amy. He was
scared by the stillness of her pose, like a lovely effigy
on an old tomb. But the sound of her breathing re-
assured him. It was too loud. Assuredly she had
been drugged—not without a struggle, he was sure.
The thought of his delicate little Amy struggling in
the grip of a brutal strength made his breast burn.
He could have strangled Bianca without remorse.
Bianca's struggles were growing stronger now.


266 The Owl Taxi
She was doing her best to bite him. It seemed to
Greg that Bull had had plenty of time to get Hickey.
What could be the matter? Suppose Bull's nerve
failed him when it came to entering the house. Sup-
pose the policeman came back, or another passer-by.
Greg's nerves were at the cracking point.
Then he heard the flivver coming. It passed and
stopped just beyond the door. In his imagination he
measured the steps that Bull must take to the foot of
the ladder. Would he dare mount it? He listened
in an agony of suspense. At last he heard it creak
and dared to breathe a little. But Bull's heart might
fail him at the window! His own had failed him !
The silence was too long! No! there stood Bull's
bulky figure in the bathroom doorway. A little sob
of relief escaped Greg.
Greg beckoned him close with his head. Indicat-
ing Amy he whispered: “Pick her up. Wrap her well
in a blanket, and carry her to the window. Pass her
to Hickey. When they reach the pavement, give me
a little signal and I'll come.”
“There's a fellow seen the ladder and run back for
a policeman,” Bull whispered hoarsely.
“Then hustle! Hustle!” whispered Greg.
The heavy man moved with a surprising celerity
and noiselessness. Rough as was his exterior there
was a gentle strain in him; he gathered up Amy as
tenderly and unselfconsciously as if she had been a
little child.
Bianca had ceased to struggle, and in his eagerness
to follow the movements of the other man Greg re-
laxed his vigilance for a second. With a sudden cat-


The Abduction 267
like twist she freed her face from his hand. A pierc-
ing shriek escaped her.
Greg quickly silenced her, but the mischief was done.
After a second's breathless silence an uproar arose
through the house. The nurse ran to the door and
rattled it and beat upon it. Other doors opened and
slammed, and running feet were heard throughout
the house. In different parts of the house the insane
patients infected with the excitement began to scream.
Bianca, encouraged by the sounds of approaching
help, began to struggle with redoubled energy. She
fought with every fiber of her being, like a cat in a
snare. Greg was more than a match for her in
strength, but scarcely in quickness. She got her head
free again, and screamed:
“They're taking her out of the window. Go to the
street!”
A voice in the hall said: “Break in the door!”
Running footsteps receded down the hall.
Bull had disappeared with Amy. It was no time
for Greg to linger. If Bull did make him a signal,
he couldn't hear it in that uproar. Releasing Bianca
he ran for the bathroom window. Springing up, she
followed, screaming incessantly.
Bull was barely over the sill, and Greg had to wait.
Bianca clawed at his back, but he scarcely felt her.
He heard the door of the bedroom go in with a crash,
and waited no longer. Thrusting Bianca out of the
way, he scrambled over the sill. He and Bull landed
in a heap together on the stoop. Greg pulled the
ladder from the window, just as hands reached out
to grab it.


268 The owl Taxi
Hickey, bearing the inert figure of Amy, had all
but reached the cab. In both the houses now they
were furiously striving to burst open the wired doors.
The fat doctor in negligee attire was at a parlor win-
dow. Throwing it up, he let himself over the sill,
and dropped into the areaway. Other men followed.
Greg and Bull ran for the cab. From the corner be-
low came the sounds of more running feet and the
shrilling of a police-whistle.
Into the flivver they piled, somehow, anyhow.
Hickey had dropped Amy on the seat, and was already
at the wheel. As Greg and Bull laid hands on the
car, he let the clutch engage. The little car sprang
ahead. The policeman, seeing them likely to escape,
fired his revolver into the air. Hickey grunted and
pulled the throttle lever all the way down. The ex-
haust roared. A second shot struck the asphalt be-
hind them and ricochetting made a dent in the back
of the car. A third shot went wild. Then they
passed out of range.
They breasted the little rise, and plunged down the
other side. Here they met the private patrolman
running towards them. Blossom and Ginger were not
to be seen. There was a harrowing moment as they
passed this officer. Would he shoot? But if he had
a gun, he was too confused to draw it. He flung his
night-stick at the wheels of the flivver, but it caromed
harmlessly off. They reached the corner and turned.
After a brief mad course around many corners they
reached one of the Park entrances. There was no
sign of any pursuing car and they slowed down. They
breathed freely again.


The Abduction 269
Greg said grimly: “Well, if you fellows wanted
excitement, I hope you're satisfied.”
“I am,” said Hickey fervently. “Me for a rest
cure, now.”
“Makes me feel like a boy again,” chuckled Bull.


CHAPTER XX
EXIT SENOR SAUNDERS
EFORE they got home Amy began to awaken
from her unnatural sleep. Greg gave her over
to the care of Bessie, who had him carry the little
figure up to Bessie's own room, where by methods
known to herself she completed her restoration.
Greg learned that during his absence Pa Simmons
had sent in a message that de Socotra had returned
to his apartment about ten in company with a young
Spanish-American whose description suggested Henry
Saunders. A little before midnight de Socotra had
come out again, leaving the young man within, and
Pa Simmons had followed him to the house on East
Seventeenth Street, where presumably he still was.
No word had come from Estuban. De Silva still
lay in his deep sleep.
As soon as Amy had recovered she asked for Greg.
He found her sitting up in bed, pale, great-eyed and
smiling. Bessie, it appeared, was not without a se-
cret, feminine fondness for pretty caps and negligees.
Producing such articles from a hidden store, she had
dressed Amy up like a French doll. After a few
moments, the good-hearted Bessie made believe to
discover an errand down-stairs, and left them alone.
But they had nothing to say to each other that any
270


Exit Señor Saunders 27I
one might not have heard. There was no constraint;
they gave each other their eyes freely, but they in-
stinctively hung back from the deep waters of speech.
They had been through too much to-night; Nature de-
manded a let-down. Their eyes had reached an un-
derstanding, their tongues wagged irresponsibly.
By and by they heard the disturbance incidental to
a new arrival in the kitchen below. Amy, recogniz-
ing the timbre of the voice, looked at Greg and said:
“Henry.”
Ginger McAfee came running up-stairs. Though
invited to enter, an excessive delicacy constrained him
to deliver his message from the other side of the door.
“It's the young Spanish gent wants to see Miss.
Him that come to the yard yesterday morning. Bull's
watching him till she says what to do with him.”
Amy looked at Greg again.
Said he: “Might as well get it over with.”
She nodded. “Let him come up,” she called to
Ginger.
Señor Henry rushed into the room, and oblivious
to the presence of Greg fell on his knees beside Amy's
bed and reached for her hand. “Amélie I Amélie l’’
he cried. A flood of Spanish followed. Gone was
the high-bred disdain. His yellow face worked with
the uncontrollable emotion of a weak nature.
For some obscure reason Amy blushed and glanced
uneasily at Greg. He, no less uncomfortable, looked
away.
“Get up,” she said curtly to the other. “Speak
English.”
Señor Henry obeyed neither command.


272 The Owl Taxi
“I shall not answer you unless you speak English.”
He made the attempt, but it was not easy for him
to express his overmastering emotion in the unfa-
miliar tongue. The stammering effect of it all was:
“Come away! This is no place for you!”
“This is where my friends live,” said Amy, coldly.
It was lost on him. “Come away! I have a cab
down-stairs.”
“Where to?” asked Amy dryly.
“Back to Señora de Socotra.”
“And Señor Francisco? No, thank you.”
“Let me take you to a hotel, then.”
“In this? I have no other clothes.”
Señor Henry's feelings were too much for him. He
relapsed into Spanish. Amy clapped her hands over
her ears.
“Speak English !” she commanded.
The dark-skinned youth, guessing that the English
was for Greg's benefit, shot a glance of purest hatred
across the bed. To Amy he said: “Tell the Señora
the truth, and she will leave Francisco.”
“And die of a broken heart,” said Amy. “I’d
rather kill Francisco.”
“But you cannot remain here among these peo-
ple.”
“Remember, you are speaking of my friends,” Amy
warned him. “Answer me a question. How did you
know you'd find me here?”
“I guessed it.”
“That's not enough. How did you guess it?”
“Well, Francisco asked me to spend the night in
his apartment, so that the Señora would not be left


Exit Señor Saunders 273
alone. He had to be out late. Bianca telephoned
from the sanitarium that you had been carried off.
What was I to do? I didn't know where Francisco
was. I dared not tell the Señora what had happened.
Bianca said it was—” he jerked his head across the
bed, “so I came down here.”
“You knew then that they had put me in a private
madhouse,” said Amy relentlessly.
He shrugged.
“Perhaps you thought I was mad?”
“I did not. I told Francisco it was an outrage.
Nothing I could say would move him. What was I
to do?”
“What steps did you take to get me out?”
“Francisco swore to me that it was only for the
night. As soon as he could arrange to get a private
car, he said, he would send us all home together.”
“Why did Francisco put me in that place?”
Señor Henry shrugged again. “Surely you know
that. He had learned that you were working against
him in political matters. I warned you, you know.”
“You mean criminal matters,” Amy amended.
Greg spoke for the first time. “Ask him how
Señor Francisco learned of your activities.”
Señor Henry's shoulders and eyebrows were agi-
tated together. “How should I know?”
“Did you tell him?” Amy asked directly.
He sprang up. “I did not tell him! I swear it!
You insult me by asking such a question!”
Amy turned to Greg. “What do you know?”
Greg answered coolly: “He told him, right
enough.” -


274 The Owl Taxi
“It's a lie!” cried Señor Henry, turning a little yel-
lower than his wont. “I might have known who put
that idea into your head! Would you take the word
of this—this cabman, against mine!”
Greg laughed.
“When could he have told him?” Amy asked Greg.
“This afternoon when Señor Francisco started from
the apartment for the train, he met Señor Saunders
at the door. Señor Saunders entered the cab with
him, and they started down-town together. He told
him then. That is why Señor Francisco came rushing
back in the state that you saw him.”
The Spanish-American youth fell back. Rage and
fright made his weak face hideous. A cold sweat
had sprung out on his forehead; his teeth were bared.
“It's a lie! a lie!” he repeated. “I never saw Fran-
cisco until afterwards. How do you know so much
about my movements!”
“I drove the cab,” said Greg simply.
Señor Henry stared at him speechlessly.
Amy very quietly started to pull a handsome ring
from her finger. It was tight; it did not come eas-
ily. Both men watched the action with a fascinated
gaze. She finally held out the ring towards Señor
Henry. He refused it with a passionate gesture. She
let it drop on the floor.
“Go!” she said.
He burst out in desperate appeals, reproaches, ex-
cuses, all in Spanish. Amy turned wearily away.
Greg stood up. “You’ve had your answer,” he
said harshly. “Go, before you're helped out.”
Señor Henry stopped short, stared from one to an-


Exit Señor Saunders 275
other, biting his lip, then turned, and rushed from the
room as violently as he had entered. They heard
the front door slam behind him.
Amy covered her face with her hands. “I’m so
ashamed !” she murmured. “To think that I could
ever have thought—even for a moment—that!”
“Forget the mannikin,” said Greg calmly. “He
means nothing in your life.”
Greg heard Estuban's voice in the kitchen and has-
tened down-stairs. . Their eyes brightened at the sight
of each other like old friends. Estuban quickly ex-
plained that he had been carried as far as Philadelphia
by the express on which he had expected to find de
Socotra, and had been obliged to wait there several
hours for a returning train.
“What has happened here?” he asked eagerly.
“Quite a bit,” said Greg dryly. “We’ve got both
the girl and the book out of de Socotra's hands. That
is to say, we got a book.”
“The little black book!” cried Estuban, his black
eyes gleaming. “Let me see it!”
Greg handed it over, watching for Estuban's ver-
dict with more anxiety than he cared to show. Estu-
ban hastily turned the pages. What Greg read in
his face confirmed his worst fears; amazement, in-
credulity, anger.
“This is not it!” he cried. “He has fooled you!
This is an impudent substitute manufactured out of
whole cloth !”
“I was half prepared for that,” said Greg gloomily.
Estuban went on: “This is what de Socotra meant


276 The Owl Taxi
to carry to the President. Look! testimonials of re-
spect to His Excellency; addresses of felicitation from
public bodies of every class in Managuay; the Santi-
ago Chamber of Commerce; the Planters' Association;
The Rubber-Gatherers' Union! The last is a master-
piece; listen! “The Rubber-Gatherers' Union of
Managuay, happy in their situation on a fertile soil
under a liberal government, desires to express to his
Excellency, the President of the United States, etc.,
etc. My God! what sublime impudence!”
“Then our work is still to do,” said Greg grimly.
“Do you know where de Socotra is at this moment?”
asked Estuban with a dangerous glitter in his eyes.
“At a house on East Seventeenth Street, the head-
quarters of his gang. He got that book there earlier
in the day.”
“It was made there under his direction, no doubt,
and the original is presumably there.”
“If they have not destroyed it.”
“They would scarcely do that unless they thought
it was in danger of falling into our hands. Think of
the handle it will give them against those who dare
oppose them in Managuay. The unfortunate ones
who made these affidavits will be marked men here-
after.”
Greg looked around the kitchen at the men who
were awaiting the outcome of this talk, and looked
back at Estuban. The corners of his mouth turned
up with grim humor. “Let's go and get it,” he said
suddenly.
Estuban's hand shot out to meet Greg's. “My
idea, too,” he said with satisfaction.


Exit Señor Saunders 277
“We have four good men here,” Greg went on,
“and a fifth is watching the house now. With the
exception of de Socotra himself, that gang is not for-
midable. Their morale is poor.”
“What do you propose?” asked Estuban.
“The simplest plan possible; to get into the house
by force or by trickery, and hold them up. Are you
armed?”
Estuban nodded.
“They got a gun from me on our last meeting.
I'll see what there is in our outfit here.”
Greg and Estuban were talking low-voiced in a
corner of the kitchen, while the others waited. All
thought of sleep had been given up for this night.
Even Bessie, infected by the general excitement, had
yielded to their solicitations in so far as to prepare a
small-hour supper. The clock had just struck three.
“Boys,” said Greg. “Are you game to turn an-
other trick before daylight?”
“Try us,” said Bull, grinning.
“Me and Blossom was done out of the best fun
before,” said Ginger. -
Greg briefly explained what had to be done. It
appeared that their appetites were only whetted for
danger. They jumped at the chance. Even Hickey,
encouraged by the size of the attacking party perhaps,
did not bewail his fate this time. It transpired that
both Blossom and Bull possessed revolvers. Greg bor-
rowed Blossom's and let Bull keep his, unloaded.
“You won't mind if I empty out the shells?” he
said. “Estuban and I feel that we ought to take the
responsibility of any shooting that may be necessary.”


278 The Owl Taxi
Bessie, who had taken everything in, disappeared
into the store, and returned with a small object which
she offered Greg. Said she: “If you're going to break
into the house—mind, I didn't say I held by any such
foolishness, but if you're going to do it anyway, bet-
ter take my glass-cutter. It may come in handy.”
“Bessie, you’ve got a better head than any of us!”
cried Greg—“or maybe you're more experienced in
house-breaking.”
“Go along with you! Mind you bring it back safe.
I can't sell window glass without something to cut it.”
When they were ready to start, Greg ran up-stairs
to bid good-by to Amy. He told her what they de-
signed to do.
It was at the hour of the night when human vitality
is at its ebb. The plucky lip trembled. “Must you?”
she faltered. “On top of everything to-night?” .
“It must be at once, while he is off his guard. He
does not yet know. of your escape.”
“If I could only go too! But to wait here in sus-
pense—how can I endure it?”
“Oh, this is a simple job.”
“Simple! You don’t know Francisco.”
“I must go. Send me with a smile.”
She smiled. “I want you to promise me some-
thing,” she begged. “You mustn't be angry.”
He looked his question.
Her eyes searched his deep. “I want you to prom-
ise me you will not kill Francisco. I could not have
that. After all he has cared for me for nine years,
and he is the husband of the one I love.”
There was more implied in this than was spoken.


Exit Señor Saunders 279
Greg understood. “I promise you,” he said gravely,
—“unless it is a question of defending myself.”
“Do not think that I mean to let him go free,” she
said; “he shall be punished, terribly punished; but it
must be in the way that I set.”


Up-stairs and Down 28I
from this corner for awhile, then runs around the
block and takes a stand down by First. Then I come
back again. But there's a cop down there's got his
eye on me already. I don' know where to go now.”
“You can be our mobile scout,” said Greg. “Keep
moving. Drive through this block every minute.
We'll signal you if we need you.”
Pa Simmons drove off.
At the corner where they stood there was a mod-
ern apartment house. A space of three feet sepa-
rated the back wall of this building from the side
wall of the first dwelling. This crack offered the only
discoverable opening into the interior of the block.
As the house they were seeking to enter was the sixth
from the corner, it meant that they must climb six
back fences to reach it.
“Bull, how are you on climbing fences?” asked Greg.
“O. K., if somebody will hold me overcoat.”
“Hand it to one of the fellows. Estuban, Bull
and I will go over the fences and break in the back
way. You other fellows hide yourselves up and down
the block here, but choose places where you can watch
that house. If anybody comes out you are to jump on
him and frisk him for the little black book, see? If
it isn't on him let him go. If we get in the rear all
right, and want your help, one of us will come to the
front door, and saw his arm up and down so, like a
semaphore.”
There was a flight of steps down to the rear base-
ment-door of the apartment house. An eight-foot
fence separated the narrow yard here from the yard
of the first dwelling. Greg and Estuban boosted Bull


284 The Owl Taxi
by you without frisking him for the book. If they
come too fast for you, call for help.”
Greg and Estuban stole up to the main floor. Two
long parlors front and rear opened off the hall. They
were dusty and empty like the rooms below. At the
head of the next flight of stairs a crack of light showed
under a door, and a murmur of voices came down
to them.
Greg whispered to Estuban: “Creep up stairs and
listen. It may be valuable to us. I'll call the other
men in.”
With infinite caution Greg unchained and unlocked
the two sets of doors and stepped out on the stoop.
The block was empty. But there were eyes out. For
when Greg gave the prearranged signal three figures
appeared from the shadows opposite and noiselessly
hastened to him. He drew them inside the house and
shut the doors. -
Hickey was sent to help Bull because there were
two ways out from the basement to be watched; Blos-
som was left at the front door; Greg and Ginger stole
on up and joined Estuban at the turn of the stairs.
Putting his lips to Greg's ear Estuban breathed:
“We're just in time. They're breaking up here.
There are not more than four men with de Socotra in
there. The rest have already scattered. He's giv-
ing these their final instructions now.”
Greg whispered back: “Is the door locked?”
“I don't think so. There's no key in the other side.
Now that you're here to back me up I'll try the han-
dle.”
“Wait a minute. Front and rear bedrooms in these


Up-stairs and Down 285
houses usually communicate. Ginger, go in the front
room and stand guard. Take my flash.”
Estuban yielded first place to Greg. Greg tried
the door. It gave. Slamming it open the two en-
tered the room with their guns before them.
“Hands up, gentlemen,” said Greg.
There were four men; three seated in various at-
titudes about a table near the window, and the fourth,
de Socotra, arrested in the act of pacing back and
forth. The table was littered with papers. Several
valises stood about the floor. The three sitting men,
Abanez and Alfieri were two of them, flung up their
hands without a sound as if impelled by an electrical
current. Not so de Socotra. His nerves were under
iron control. He actually laughed. With his eyes
fixed on Greg's eyes he coolly drew a cigarette case
from his waistcoat pocket, took a cigarette, tapped it
finically on the lid, and stuck it between his grinning
lips. Returning the cigarette case, from another
pocket he produced a match, struck it on his sole,
lighted the cigarette and flicked the match away.
“Ah, our good friend Mr. Parr again,” he said
mockingly. “Really, Mr. Parr, you ought to be in
moving pictures. Or perhaps you are. To what do
I owe the pleasure of this call?”
If he expected to rattle Greg he mistook his man.
Greg saw a tell-tale bulge over the man's right breast,
and that was all he wanted. Matching the other's
tone, he said:
“You’re a remarkable man, Señor de Socotra. I
didn’t want to lose touch with you. To-night I have
brought an old acquaintance of yours with me.”


286 The Owl Taxi
De Socotra for the first looked at Estuban, and his
eyes changed. The smile became a thought strained,
but the voice was as cool as ever. “Ah, Estuban |
How did you get out of jail?”
Estuban was incapable of this grim jesting. It was
his first sight of the man responsible for the murder
of his best friend, and his eyes burned. He answered
de Socotra in Spanish. Whatever it was he said, it
bit through the elder man's veneer of scorn. De
Socotra snarled at him.
“Put up your hands,” said Greg. “I shall not tell
you again.” -
De Socotra obeyed. But his expression altered.
He looked beyond and between Greg and Estuban and
suddenly cried:
“Seize them both, Milio!”
In spite of themselves they looked behind them.
Even as he turned, Greg was half sensible that it
was a trick, but the subconscious impulse was irre-
sistible. There was no one there, of course. They
turned back. De Socotra was in the act of springing
towards an open door in the corner. Like a flash
Estuban's pistol sought him. Greg knocked his hand
up, and the bullet went through the ceiling. De
Socotra disappeared. The other three men, green
with terror, never moved.
“Keep them covered,” Greg shouted. “I’ll get
him.”
He ran out through the hall and into the front
room crying: “Hold him, Ginger!”
But he and Ginger only collided with each other in
the empty room.


Up-stairs and Down 287
“He didn't come this way,” gasped Ginger.
At the same moment back in the hall a door banged
open. They ran out. An open closet door between
the two rooms showed the way he had escaped. There
was no sight nor sound of him. There were two
other rooms on the floor, a bathroom presumably
and a hall room, but he had not had time enough to
get a door open and closed again, nor could he have
gone down stairs for there was no sound from Blos-
som at the foot.
At the instant Greg made up his mind that he had
gone up, a small bright beam of light flashed athwart
the upper flight and threw a circle on the side wall.
From above a voice said mockingly:
“Yes, I'm up here, Mr. Parr. Come on up.
When you cross that light I'll give you something to
bring with you.”
The voice did not come from the spot whence the
light issued. Evidently he had laid his light on the
floor and retreated from it. For an instant Greg
hesitated. Then it came to him what to do. Ex-
tending his body on the steps, pressing close to the
rail where one on the upper landing could not see him,
he snaked his way up a step at a time until he was
within striking distance of the light. Taking careful
aim, he fired. The light went out.
At the same moment he lêt his body relax and slid
back down the stairs. But no answering shot came
as he expected. Nor was there any sound of running
feet above. De Socotra as usual was bluffing. While
the light lay on the floor he had stolen away. Listen-
ing intently Greg heard some little sounds from the


290 The Owl Taxi
Blossom, and waited to liberate Greg. This took
him a little while, because De Socotra had tossed away
the keys at random. Greg shouted to Ginger to open
the middle door, but in his excitement Ginger did not
get the sense of it. He struck innumerable matches
until he found the key to the back room.
Meanwhile de Socotra had leaped down two flights
of stairs unhindered, for Estuban dared not leave the
three men he was covering. On the third flight de
Socotra saw Blossom waiting for him at the foot and
went over the rail. He dropped in the middle of the
hall and ran into one of the parlors. Here, as Blos-
som chased him in and out the different doors, he be-
gan to shout for help in tones of mock fear. -
These cries were too much for Bull and Hickey on
the floor below. Locking the doors at which they
respectively stood guard, they sprang up to the parlor
floor. This was evidently what de Socotra wanted.
He led them all a chase through the dark rooms.
They collided with each other and wasted their
strength in vain struggles, thinking they had the fugi-
tive. When he saw the way clear de Socotra ran on
down the basement stairs.
By this time Greg and Ginger reached the first
floor. They heard de Socotra running wildly back
and forth in the basement below. Bull and Hickey
had had the foresight to pocket the keys of the two
doors and he could not get out. All the windows in
the basement were barred. As Greg leaped down the
basement stairs with the other men tumbling after
he heard the cellar door bang open. There was no
way out of the cellar except by the coal-hole.


292 The Owl Taxi
Estuban was hampered by no promise to spare their
adversary. His gun went up. Springing forward,
Greg flung his arms about him. They struggled,
while their men looked on at a loss how to act. No
one noticed that de Socotra had maneuvered his po-
sition until he now stood under the gaslight. His
hand shot over his head, and they were plunged in
blackness. Before he could be stopped de Socotra
gained the stairs. Trying to follow him, they jammed
helplessly together. He slammed the door at the top
and locked it.
With their combined weight it was only a moment
or two before they burst it out. But de Socotra was
already half way up through the house. They reached
the top floor to find the scuttle open to the sky.
There was no sign of him up and down the roofs.
Greg reluctantly called off the pursuit. “We'll
only rouse the neighborhood. He has some way of
retreat known to himself. Let the last man through
hook the scuttle so he can't come back this way.”
They left the three Spanish-Americans to make their
way out as best they could. If de Socotra failed to
return to their aid, they could always throw up the
windows and call on the neighbors. It would be up to
them to explain how they came to be in such a plight.
It was a dejected little crowd that made its way back
through the dark, cold streets to Bessie Bickle's. Estu-
ban was furiously angry at being balked of his purpose.
“Why did you stop me?” he cried.
Greg was not quite frank in replying, “I couldn't
help myself,” he said. “Richly as he deserved it, I


Up-stairs and Down 293
couldn't stand by and let you shoot down an unarmed
man.”
“We'll never get him now,” muttered Estuban, and
relapsed into a sullen silence. -
Greg's own state of mind was not an enviable one.
To be so nearly successful and then have his man flout
him to his face, and get away laughing—it was too
much ! His heart burned in his breast. Promise or
no promise, he knew there would be no peace in life
for him until he had squared accounts with that smiling
scoundrel.
As soon as they opened the kitchen door they saw
from Bessie's pale face and shaken manner that some-
thing fresh had happened on this night of nights.
Thinking of Amy Greg's breast went cold. “What
is it?” he demanded.
The answer relieved his worst fears. “He’s gone,”
stammered Bessie, “the Spaniard up-stairs.”
“Dead?” said Greg astonished.
“Aye, he's dead all right. I went up just now to
have a look at him. He's lying there Bessie
shuddered. “I left him till you come.”
“And Amy?”
“She's all right. Asleep. She don't know.”
“Send one of the boys for the doctor,” said Greg.
“I’ll go up alone first.”
The light in Greg's room was still burning. De Silva
was lying on his back on the bed his eyes open and
staring. . . . Small wonder Bessie had been fright-
ened. One arm hung down over the edge of the bed,
the hand lying palm upward and open on the floor. A


294 The Owl Taxi
little bright object had rolled from the nerveless fin-
gers. Greg picked it up, a hypodermic needle.
On the bureau its case lay open. Beside the bed for
the needle it held space for a vial of some blackish
fluid; no doubt a further supply of the poison that
killed with a lightning stroke. Under the little
shagreen case was a folded paper addressed in pencil
to “Gregory Parr.” Greg opened it with fingers that
trembled a little and read:
“I kept the needle. I ought to have used it first,
but it takes nerve to jab yourself. It was easier to
jump overboard. I can use it now. When we started
for New York the old man gave me a little book to
carry. Important papers were bound in it. I never
read them. They were made out in duplicate. He
carried one set and gave me the other. I meant to
give them to de Socotra, but I didn't want to after. I
didn't know what to do with it. I hid myself in a
cheap little hotel the day after, the Alpha House, -
West Broadway. I had room number 19. I slit the
mattress and hid the book in the stuffing. I suppose
it's there yet if you want it.
“De Silva.”
The reaction from discouragement to hope was sud-
den. Greg had to read the note twice before he real-
ized what it meant. He resisted his first impulse to
shout the joyful tidings down to Estuban. Better not
raise his hopes until the prize was actually in hand.
Greg scarcely gave another thought to what lay on the
bed. This discovery dwarfed the importance of the
poor wretch's end. Five o'clock of a winter's morn-
ing though it was, he could not wait a moment before


Up-stairs and Down 295
*
going in search of the little book. He put the needle
in the case and the case in his pocket, and determined
to keep his own counsel for the time being. If the
doctor was willing to issue a death certificate without
full information, so much the better.
To those in the kitchen he merely said: “I have to
go out for an hour. If the doctor says all right, send
for the undertaker. Hickey, drive me over to West
Broadway, will you?”
Within the time he had set Greg was back with
shining eyes. In the kitchen the disconsolate crowd
sat much as he had left them. Ginger and Blossom
slept with their heads on the table. Bull, Blossom and
Pa Simmons were talking in whispers by the window.
Bessie moved heavily around on her interminable
chores. Beyond the stove sat Estuban in an attitude
of utter dejection, elbows on knees and head between
his hands. At the noise of Greg's entrance he lifted
his lack-luster eyes. Seeing Greg's beaming smile a
resentful scowl lined his brows.
“You seem well-pleased with yourself,” he mut-
tered.
Greg without saying anything held up the little
black book before him. Estuban gasped and hung
undecided for a moment. Then springing towards
Greg he snatched it from his hands and scanned the
pages with burning eyes. -
“This is it !” he cried. “Thank God! we have him
now!”


CHAPTER XXII
NEMESIS
N the afternoon of the day following these events
Amy and Greg alighted from the flivver at the
door of the Stickney Arms. Their pale composed faces
masked a great inner excitement for they knew that
Francisco de Socotra was at home. It had been Amy's
idea thus boldly to beard him in his lair. Ever since
she had got up that morning the direction of affairs
had been in her hands. Greg looked at the little crea-
ture with a new wonder and respect.
The hall-boy Frank received them with a broad grin
not unmixed with slyness. The new clothes that Bessie
had got Amy made her look like a bride perhaps.
Clearly Frank's explanation of this visit was that they
were returning, married, for the parental blessing.
Therefore he looked both disappointed and puzzled
when they sent up their names: Miss Wilmot and Mr.
Parr. Word was quickly returned that they were to
be shown up.
A new maid opened the door to them, to whom they
meant nothing. They were ushered into the handsome
living-room of the apartment where Señor and Señora
de Socotra were both waiting. Amy was quickly re-
ceived into the other woman's arms who patted her
and wept and babbled incoherently. De Socotra, what-
296


Nemesis 297
ever his feelings were, received them with a happy
parental smile that was perfection. His welcome in-
cluded Greg. Not by the slightest sign did he betray
any consciousness of the events of the night before.
Greg thought grimly: “He feels that he can afford
to smile since the body of his victim is reduced to ashes,
and the damning evidence of the little black book de-
stroyed too. Wait a bit, old fellow!”
While Amy and Señora de Socotra murmured to-
gether, Señor Francisco made bland remarks on the
weather, his wicked eye twinkling at Greg as if to in-
vite him to enjoy the situation. He offered Greg one
of the incomparable cigars. Greg, reflecting that all
this was for the benefit of the gentle, kindly little lady
who had harmed no one, took it.
“Last night I pointed a gun at him and to-day he
comes back with a cigar,” he thought. “Life's a funny
affair!”
Amy said to Greg deprecatingly: “I am lying to her,
poor dear! I am telling her that I was so much better
to-day that they allowed me to come out for a little
while in your care.”
“Admirable !” murmured de Socotra.
Señora de Socotra shyly nodded and smiled at Greg,
and said something to Amy that was evidently intended
to be repeated to him. There was a charming, child-
like quality in the little lady that was wholly irresistible.
Amy said: “She asks your pardon that she cannot
speak your language. She wishes me to thank you for
taking such good care of me.”
“She thinks you're one of the keepers,” chuckled de
Socotra.


300 The Owl Taxi
creature now had a consecrated air like a priestess that
added inches to her stature. Greg, who was wretch-
edly ill at ease, regarded her with a kind of awe. She
was the leader now. A strange hush brooded over the
little house. The shutters of the store were up.
Amy led the way up-stairs. De Socotra, notwith-
standing his pretended assurance, was impressed by
the change in her dress and manner. All the way up
he talked lightly to conceal his uneasiness.
“What an odd retreat you have chosen I I thought
we should never get here. My chauffeur had never
heard of Gibbon Street, nor any one else for that mat-
ter. What shocking streets we came through. Pic-
turesque though, if one cares for that sort of thing.”
No one paid the slightest attention to this babble.
At the head of the stairs Amy opened the door of
Bessie's bedroom and passed in. De Socotra was still
talking as he followed her. Greg was behind him.
“Houston Street reminded me of Rome, Rome in
Juvenal's day with its ?? -
The sentence was caught up on a gasp. It was never
completed. Bessie's room had been transformed into
a little mortuary chapel. Everything in it had been
removed and the walls hung from ceiling to floor in
grim black draperies. The effect was startling in the
extreme; it had been designed to startle. In the center
of the room, the sole object it contained, rested a plain
black coffin on a severely draped bier. Six tall candles
stood about the head lighting the face of the corpse
strangely. It was the face of de Silva—peaceful,
waxen, and faintly yellow.
Greg fascinated watched de Socotra. Amy dis-


Nemesis 30I
dained to look at him. Her gaze was bent like Neme-
sis on the poor clay. De Silva's face showed a dignity
it had never known in life. One saw the man he might
have been. Stilled now was the wild spirit that had
been touched too late by kindness.
De Socotra's bronzed face turned gray, and a net-
work of tiny dark veins showed under his skin. One
realized the man's age. He breathed like something
hurt. But he kept his back straight and his gaze never
faltered from the dead man's face.
“Where did you—where did you—” he began twice,
but did not finish.
Amy without speaking pointed to a note pinned on
de Silva's breast. De Socotra, seeing that he was ex-
pected to read it, came forward. His nostrils twitched,
a pained look showed deep in his eyes; one guessed that
it afflicted him with nausea to approach the body of his
hired assassin, but his iron will was not yet broken.
He stooped, and in the light of the candles began to
read with a sneer. It was the note de Silva had left
for Greg.
As he realized what it implied, de Socotra sharply
straightened, and for an instant looked wildly around
like a trapped creature. But he quickly controlled him-
self. He turned his back on the coffin.
“So this is your proof,” he said, and God knows
what effort it cost him to bring it out so nonchalantly;
“but he's dead, too !”
“Follow me,” said Amy.
She opened the door that communicated with Bes-
sie's parlor. An overpowering breath of sweetness was
wafted forth. She passed in. De Socotra followed to


Nemesis 303
The broken man had no thought but to obey. He
approached the coffin's foot on sinking knees. The
change in his face was shocking. He saw that the dead
man held clasped in his hands the little black book in
which was bound up “the happiness of a whole people,”
but de Socotra regarded that indifferently now.
He whispered hoarsely: “It is enough. I under-
stand you.” Turning, he made his way towards the
hall door like a man struggling against a crushing
power, like a swimmer at the last gasp.
“Wait!” said Amy.
Reaching him, she held out the little shagreen case.
“Something of yours that I wish to return to you,”
she said with dreadful meaning.
Greg shuddered. De Socotra dropped the case in
his pocket.
At the foot of the stairs he paused again. Without
looking at Amy he murmured: “Will you come back—
and stay with mamma?”
“If I do not find Bianca there.”
“I shall send her away at once.”
“Very well. I shall be there to-night.”
When the door closed behind him Greg burst out:
“You cannot go! It is too horrible!”
“It must be gone through with,” she murmured.
Early next morning Greg, who had paced his room
the night through, received the expected summons.
Francisco de Socotra had been found dead in his bed.
Heart-failure, the doctor said. How should he have
noticed the tiny needle prick on the man's throat? The
needle itself had been destroyed before he came.


3O4 The Owl Taxi
Señora de Socotra was a piteous figure. Later in
the day she insisted on seeing Greg to thank him for
his kindness at so dreadful a moment in a strange land.
Overwhelming as was her grief there was no bitterness
in it. She spoke of it as simply as a child. Amy with
the tears running down her cheeks translated for Greg.
“If you could have known him as I knew him! So
good a man, so kind and true! Like a knight of olden
times; my knight! I could not live without him, did I
not feel that he had left me a work to do. He has left
a great fortune, they tell me. Every penny of it shall
I devote to good works in his memory! If I cannot
be happy I can at least find peace in building a worthy
memorial to his dear name.”
When they left her Amy said: “You understand now
why I acted as I did?”
“I understand,” Greg said.


CHAPTER XXIII
CONCLUSION
HE news of the deaths respectively of Antonio
Bareda and Francisco de Socotra reached Mana-
guay simultaneously. Many surmises were given rise
to, but the truth never became known—or at least it
was never published. The bodies of the two citizens
arrived on the same ship and their funerals were held
on the same day. Little inconvenience was thereby
caused, for there were few in Managuay who desired
to attend both ceremonies. One cortege was followed
by the rich and the great whose sleek countenances bore
the conventional expressions of grief; while behind the
other followed on foot an endless procession of the
weeping poor.
De Socotra's wife and adopted daughter brought his
body home, and on the day following the funeral
Señora de Socotra in memory of her husband presented
to the republic the magnificent estate of Casa Grande
with its famous Jardin des Plantes to be held in per-
petuity for the benefit of the people. Señora de So-
cotra and Miss Wilmot (as the younger lady was there-
after to be known) then departed for Paris to arrange
for the magnificent mausoleum that the bereaved
widow designed to erect.
305


Conclusion 307
by the crowds. She remained until after the event.
No armed force was landed; her mute presence in the
harbor was sufficient. For the first time in years the
Managuayans voted as they pleased. A truly popu-
lar and representative government was returned, which
promptly got down to the work of correcting the abuses
of the former régime. Curiously enough business was
not ruined as had been so freely prognosticated. Divi-
dends continued to be paid while the workers sang at
their work. Capitalists discovered in Managuay as
elsewhere that oppression did not even pay.
Towards the end of the winter Señora de Socotra
and Miss Wilmot returned to Santiago de Managuay.
Amidst the misty verdure of the Jardin des Plantes
under the great moon of the tropics sauntered a happy
pair pressed close together.
“When did you start loving me, Greg?”
“When you touched my arm outside the garage,
and asked me if that was my car.”
“But I was in boy's clothes then.”
“My heart told me you were not a boy. . . . When
did you start loving me?”
“On the way home in the cab from Bessie's when
we quarreled so violently. I cried all night.”
“Oho! Then the way to reach your heart is by
quarreling with you!”
“Oh, it wouldn't work now. I see through you too
Well!”
“I love to have you see through me! How sweet it
is to have you laugh at me and love me still!”
“I like to have you love me, but I'm not sure that I


308 The Owl Taxi
like to be laughed at. Perhaps you can teach me to
laugh at myself.”
“I don't want you any different. It's such fun to
tease you, Red-head!”
“I’ll bleach my hair!”
“You couldn’t bleach your red-headed nature ! . . .
“What became of the old flivver, Greg?”
“I brought it with me.”
“Brought it with you!”
“Yes, and Hickey. I intended to surprise you.
Hickey had a longing to travel. He is now driving
Taxi No. 1 in Santiago, and learning Spanish morn-
ings. When the old car will no longer run we'll build
a little private museum for her in our back yard.
When we get old we'll go look at it together and re-
mind each other of the brisk days of our youth.”
“We'll never grow old inside anyway. . . .”
“Amy, dear, there's one thing that troubles my
peace.”
“What is that?”
“De Socotra's money.”
“It was all left to mamma.”
“But I suppose it will come to you in time. How
could we take it?”
“I have thought of that. We needn't take it if you
will help me lie once more and for the last time.”
“How P”
“I have been trying to persuade mamma to buy her-
self a sufficient annuity and then devote all the rest to
philanthropic works. She objects that she must make
provision for me. But if we allow her to think that
you have sufficient 9?
99








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