"Hop in, Miss," interrupted the driver from his seat. "I've got all your bags and things up but,— What's that you're saying?"
"I shall not enter this cab," she said resolutely. "If you are in the pay of this man—"
"I was sent here in answer to a telephone call half an hour ago. That's all I know about it. What's the row?"
"There is no row," said Stuyvesant, coming up. "Get in. Miss Emsdale. I'm through. I've done my best to help you."
But she was now thoroughly alarmed. She sensed abduction.
"No! Stay on your box, my man! Don't get down. I shall walk to my—"
"Go ahead, driver. Take those things to the address I just gave you," said Stuyvesant. "We'll be along later."
"I knew! I knew!" she cried out. In a flash she was running down the sidewalk toward the comer.
He followed her a few paces and then stopped, cursing softly.
"Hey!" called out the driver, springing to the sidewalk. "What's all this? Getting me in wrong, huh? That's what the little roll of bills was for, eh? Well, guess again! Get out of the way, you, or I'll bat you one over the bean."
In less time than it takes to tell it, he had whisked the trunk from the platform of the taxi and the three bags from the interior.
"I ought to beat you up anyhow," he grunted.
