At the end of a drive of some twenty-five minutes or less, the car
stopped--the door was opened, and the radiant Gianapolis extended both
hands to the occupant.
"My dear M. Gaston!" he cried, "how glad I am to see you looking so
well! Hand me your bag, I beg of you!"
M. Max placed the bag in the extended hand of Gianapolis, and leapt out
upon the pavement.
"This way, my dear friend!" cried the Greek, grasping him warmly by the
arm.
The Frenchman found himself being led along toward the head of the car;
and, at the same moment, Said reversed the gear and backed away. M. Max
was foiled in his hopes of learning the number of the limousine.
He glanced about him wonderingly.
"You are in Temple Gardens, M. Gaston," explained the Greek, "and here,
unless I am greatly mistaken, comes a disengaged taxi-cab. You will
drive to your hotel?"
"Yes, to my hotel," replied M. Max.
"And whenever you wish to avail yourself of your privilege, and pay
a second visit to the establishment presided over by Mr. Ho-Pin, you
remember the number?"
"I remember the number," replied M. Max.
The cab hailed by Gianapolis drew up beside the two, and M. Max entered
it.
"Good morning, M. Gaston."
"Good morning, Mr. Gianapolis."
XXXIII
LOGIC VS.
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