I would make it appear that he had succeeded.
Behold me, ten minutes later, driving slowly along a part of the
Thames Embankment which I chanced to remember, a gruesome passenger
riding behind me in the cab. I was reflecting as I kept a sharp look-out
for a spot which I had noted one day during my travels, how easily one
could commit murder in London, when a constable ran out and
intercepted me!
_Mon Deiu!_ how my heart leapt!
"I'll trouble you for your name and number, my lad," he said.
"What for?" I asked, and remembering a rare fragment of idiom: "What's
up with you?" I added.
"Your lamp's out!" he cried, "that's what's up with me!"
"Oh," said I, climbing from my seat--"very well. I'm sorry. I didn't
know. But here is my license."
I handed him the little booklet and began to light my lamps, cursing
myself for a dreadful artist because I had forgotten to do so.
"All right," he replied, and handed it back to me. "But how the devil
you've managed to get _all_ your lamps out, I can't imagine!"
"This is my first job since dusk," I explained hurrying around to the
tail-light. "And _he_ don't say much!" remarked the constable.
I replaced my matches in my pocket and returned to the front of the
cab, making a gesture as of one raising a glass to his lips and
jerking my thumb across my shoulder in the direction of my unseen fare.
"Oh, that's it!" said the constable, and moved off.
Never in my whole career have I been so glad to see the back of any
man!
I drove on slowly.
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