THE BRASS BOWL
"Never fear, sir! We'll make it in five minutes!"
"It'll be worth your while."
"Right-O!"
Maitland dropped into his seat, dumbfounded. "Good Lord!" he whispered; and then savagely: "In the power of that infamous scoundrel!" And felt of the revolver in his pocket.
The cab had been headed north; the St. Luke rears its massive bulk south of Twenty-third Street. The driver expertly swung his vehicle almost on dead center. Simultaneously it careened with the impact of a heavy bulk landing upon the step and falling in a heap on the deck.
"My worrd, what's that?" came from aloft. Maitland was altogether too startled to speak.
The heap sat up, resolving itself into the semblance of a man; who spoke in decisive tones:
"If yeh're goin' there, I'm goin' with yeh, 'r yeh don't go—see?"
"The sleuth!" gasped Maitland, astounded.
"Ah, cut that, can't yeh?" Hickey got on all
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