by in front of McCausland's, waiting for a chob. Maybe when I goes away home der driver he sees what happened at Hume's afterwards, eh?"
"Excellent!"said Ashton-Kirk, his eyes alight. "Thanks for the hint, Mr. Berg."
The delicatessen dealer lumbered into the elevator which had stopped; Pendleton was about to follow, but his friend detained him, and the car dropped downward without them.
"That cab,"said Ashton-Kirk, "is sure to be a night-hawk; and more than likely it is put up at Partridge's. Pardon me a moment."
There was a telephone booth at one side of the corridor; the speaker went in and closed the door. After a few moments he came out.
"Just as I thought,"he said, well pleased. "Partridge knew the cab in a moment. The driver's name is Sams, and he lives at the place they call the Beehive."He looked at his watch. "It wants but a few minutes of four,"he added, "and a night-hawk cabby will be just about stirring. The Beehive is only three blocks away; suppose we go around and look him up."
Pendleton agreed instantly; and after a brisk walk and a breathless climb, they found themselves on the fourth floor of a huge brick building where they had been directed by a meek-looking woman in a dust-cap. A long hall with a great many doors upon each side, all looking alike, stretched away before them.
"It's very plain that the only way to find Mr. Sams is to make a noise,"said Ashton-Kirk. And with that he stalked down the hall, his heels clattering on the bare boards. "Hello,"he cried loudly. "Sams is wanted! Hello, Sams!"
A door opened, and a face covered with thick soap suds and surmounted by a tangle of sandy hair looked out.
"Hello,"growled this person, huskily. "Who wants him?"
"Very glad to see you, Mr. Sams,"said Ashton-Kirk. "We have a small matter of business with you that will require a few moments of your time. May we come in?"
"Sure,"said Sams.
They entered the room, which contained a bed, a trunk, a wash-stand, and a chair.
"One of you can take the chair; the other can sit on the trunk,"said the hack driver, nodding toward these articles. Then he proceeded to strop a razor at one of the windows. "Excuse me if I go on with this reaping. I must go out and feed the horse, and then get breakfast."
"You breakfast rather late,"commented Ashton-Kirk.
"I'm lucky to get it at any time, in this business,"grumbled Sams. "Out all night, sleep all day, and get blamed little for it, at that."
He posed before a small mirror stuck up beside the window and gave the blade an experimental sweep across his face. Then he turned and asked inquiringly:
"Did youse gents want anything particular?"
"We'd like to ask a question or two regarding what happened last night in Christie Place."
The cab driver's forehead corrugated; he closed his razor, laid it down and shoved his' soapy face toward the speaker.
"Say,"spoke he, roughly. "I drives people wherever they wants to go; but I don't ask no questions."
"It's all right, Mr. Sams,"said Ashton-Kirk. "The affair that I'm looking up happened across the street—at Hume's—second floor of 478."
"Oh!"Sams stared for a moment, then he took up his razor, turned his back and went on with his shaving. But there was expectancy in his attitude; and Ashton-Kirk smiled confidently.
"While you were drawn up in Christie Place, waiting for a fare,"he asked, "did you hear or see anything at 478?"
"I saw a light on the second floor—something I never saw before at that hour. And I saw the Dutchman that keeps the store underneath shutting up. And I heard somebody laughing upstairs,"as a second thought. "I think that's what made me notice the light."
"Nothing else?"
Sams shaved and considered. He wiped his razor at last, poured some water in a bowl and doused his face. Then he took up a towel and began applying it briskly.
The investigator, watching him closely, saw that he was not trying to recall anything. It was plain that the man was merely calculating the possibilities of harm to himself and patrons if he told what he knew.
"There has been a murder,"said Ashton-Kirk, quietly, thinking to jog him along.
Sams threw the towel from him and sat down upon the bed.
"A murder!"said he, his eyes and mouth wide open. "Well, what do you know about that."He sat looking from one to the other of them, dazedly, for a space; then he resumed: "Say, I thought there was something queer about that stunt of hers!"
"Tell us about it,"suggested Ashton-Kirk, crossing his legs and clasping one knee with his hands.
The cabby considered once more.
"There's lots of things that a guy like me sees that look off color,"he said, at length; "but we can't always pass any remarks about them. It would be bad for business, you see. But this murder thing's a different proposition, and here's where I tell it all. Last night while I was waiting in front of McCausland's, I hears an automobile turn into the street. It was some time after I got there. I wouldn't have paid much attention to it, but you see there's a fellow been trying to get my work with a taxicab, and I thought it was him."
"And it wasn't?"
"No, it was a private car—a Maillard, and there was a woman driving it."
The chair upon which Pendleton sat was an infirm one; it creaked sharply as he made a sudden movement.
"She was going at a low speed,"proceeded Sams, "and as she passed Hume's I noticed her look up at the windows. After she disappeared there wasn't a sound for a while. You see, nobody hardly ever passes through Christie Place after one o'clock. Then I hears her coming back. This time she stopped the car, got out and went to the door that leads into Hume's place. There she stopped a little, as though she didn't know whether to go in or not. But at last she went in."
Pendleton coughed huskily at this point; and his friend glancing at him saw that his face was white.
"And up to that time,"said Ashton-Kirk, "are you sure that there was no movement—no sound—in the front room at Hume's?"
"As far as I noticed, there wasn't. But a few minutes after I heard the woman go in, I did hear some sounds."
The man stroked his shaven jaws in the deliberate manner of a person about to precipitate a crisis. Pendleton leaned toward him, anxiously.
"What sort of sounds?"he asked.
"There were two,"replied the cab driver. "The first was a revolver shot; the second came right after, and was a kind of a scream—like that of a parrot."
"And what then?"asked Ashton-Kirk, easily.
"There wasn't anything for a few minutes, anyway. But the revolver shot had kind of got my attention, so I was taking notice of the windows. Then suddenly I caught sight of the woman. You see, the gas-light was near the window and she kind of leaned over and turned it out. It was only for a time as long as that,"and the man snapped his fingers. "But I saw her plain. Then I heard her coming down the stairs to the street—almost at a run. She banged the street door shut after her, jumped into her car and went tearing away as if she was crazy. I stayed fifteen minutes before I got a fare; but nothing else happened."
Pendleton's hand closed hard on the edge of the chair he sat in. There was a moment's silence; then Ashton-Kirk asked:
"Just where was your cab standing at this time?"
"Right in front of McCausland's door."
"And you were on the box?"
"Yes."
The investigator put a piece of money in the man's hand as he and Pendleton arose and prepared to go.
"Say,"said Sam curiously, "I've been in bed all day and ain't heard a word of anything. Who's been done up?"
"Hume.