“Because I’m blasted hard hit, don’t you know?” he replied, serious again. “I’ve been jolly well robbed.” “Robbed of what?” “My wife, sir.” “Robbed of your wife?” questioned Nick, surprised and almost inclined to laugh. “That’s the blooming truth, Mr. Carter, or how it looks to me. I’m as hard hit as if I’d got a jolly bash on the beak. She’s a bally American girl, is Mollie, and----” “Stop a moment,” Nick interrupted again. “My time is valuable. I cannot listen to your digressions. Answer my questions briefly and to the point. I then may be able to aid you, if there is any real occasion.” “That’s deuced kind, old top, on my word. If----” “When did you lose your wife, and where?” Nick cut in a bit sharply. “I didn’t lose her. She was jolly well stolen; I’m sure of that.” “Where and when? By whom?” “Blast it, how can I tell?” protested the Englishman, with wagging head. “We were walking down the avenue, Mollie and I, don’t you know? A limousine shot by us, heading uptown. I heard it come to a blooming quick stop. A chauffeur came running back, a bally bounder in bottle-green livery. He tipped his lid, respectfullike, and said as how his fare had caught sight of Mollie when passing us and wanted to speak to her.” “His fare, eh? He was the driver of a taxicab, then?” put in Nick inquiringly. “I reckon that’s right, sir, but I won’t be cock-sure.” “What more did he say?” “Mollie asked the name of his fare, but he could not tell her. He said she had sent him to say a friend wanted to speak to her.” “His passenger was a woman, then?” “I’m jolly well sure of that. I saw her hat and veil through the window.” “The taxicab must, then, have stopped quite near you,” said Nick. “A matter of thirty yards, sir, not more.” “Your wife went to see who was in the conveyance?” “That’s precisely what she did,” nodded the Englishman. “Wait here, Archie, she said, and I’ll return in a moment. I was jolly well surprised, don’t you know, but what else could I do?” “Nothing at all, perhaps.” “I always do what Mollie says. She hurried to the taxicab and stuck her head through the door. She shook hands with some one, too, as well as I could tell. Then the bally chauffeur shoved her into the car, or so it looked to me, and bounded to his seat and drove away at top speed. Dash it, what d’ye think of that?” “What did you think of it?” Nick inquired. “I was so beastly hard hit I couldn’t think,” cried the Englishman. “I chased after the bally cab as fast as possible, hoping it would stop and let Mollie down, but it sped out of sight into the park, and here I am. I’m deuced well convinced there’s something wrong. Mollie wouldn’t bolt off in that fashion. She’s above serving me a scurvy trick. She----” “One moment,” Nick again interposed. “You feel quite sure, you say, that you saw the chauffeur force your wife into the cab?” “It looked jolly well like it, Mr. Carter.” “Did you hear her speak, or utter a cry?” “I did not, sir.”