"
The taximan turned hurriedly. He wore a muffler so tightly packed
between his neck and the collar of his uniform jacket, that it appeared
materially to impair his respiration. His face possessed a bluish tinge,
suggestive of asphyxia, and his watery eyes protruded remarkably; his
breathing was noisily audible.
"No, chuck it, mister!" he exclaimed. "I'm only tellin' you 'cause it
ain't my line to play tricks on the police. You'll find my name in
the books downstairs more'n any other driver in London! I reckon I've
brought enough umbrellas, cameras, walkin' sticks, hopera cloaks,
watches and sicklike in 'ere, to set up a blarsted pawnbroker's!"
"That's all right, my lad!" said Dunbar, holding up his hand to silence
the voluble speaker. "There's going to be no license-losing. You did not
hear that you were wanted before?"
The watery eyes of the cabman protruded painfully; he respired like a
horse.
"ME, guv'nor!" he exclaimed. "Gor'blime! I ain't the bloke! I was
drivin' back from takin' the Honorable 'Erbert 'Arding 'ome--same as I
does almost every night, when the 'ouse is a-sittin'--when I see old Tom
Brian drawin' away from the door o' Palace Man--"
Again Dunbar held up his hand.
"No doubt you mean well," he said; "but damme! begin at the beginning!
Who are you, and what have you come to tell us?"
"'Oo are I?--'Ere's 'oo I ham!" wheezed the cabman, proffering a greasy
license.
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