THE PRICE
fours, found his cigar, stuck it in his mouth, and fell into place at Maitland's side.
"Hickey, I mean. But how"
"If yeh're Maitland, 'nd Anisty's at the St. Luke Buildin', tell that fool up there to drive!"
Maitland had no need to lift the trap; the cabby had already done that.
"All right," the young man called. "It's Detective Hickey. Drive on!"
The lash leaped out over the roof—cr-rack!—and the horse, presumably convinced that no speed other than a dead-run would ever again be demanded of it, tore frantically down the Avenue, the hansom rocking like a topsail-schooner in a heavy gale.
Maitland and the detective were battered against the side and back of the vehicle and slammed against one another with painful regularity. Under such circumstances speech was difficult; yet they managed to exchange a few sentences.
"Yeh gottuh gun?"
"Anisty's—two good cartridges."
"Jus' as well I'm along, I guess."
327
