"A powerful argument in favour of kindness to animals!" said Psmith. "Comrade Windsor came into possession of one of Comrade Jarvis's celebrated stud of cats. What did he do? Instead of having the animal made into a nourishing soup, he restored it to its bereaved owner. Observe the sequel. He is now as a prize tortoiseshell to Comrade Jarvis." "So Bat wouldn't stand for it?" said Billy. "Not on his life. Turned it down without a blink. And he sent me along to find you and tell you so." "We are much obliged to Comrade Jarvis," said Psmith. "He told me to tell you to watch out, because another gang is dead sure to take on the job. But he said you were to know he wasn't mixed up in it. He also said that any time you were in bad, he'd do his best for you. You've certainly made the biggest kind of hit with Bat. I haven't seen him so worked up over a thing in years. Well, that's all, I reckon. Guess I'll be pushing along. I've a date to keep. Glad to have met you. Glad to have met you, Mr. Smith. Pardon me, you have an insect on your coat." He flicked at Psmith's coat with a quick movement. Psmith thanked him gravely. "Good night," concluded the stranger, moving off. For a few moments after he had gone, Psmith and Billy sat smoking in silence. They had plenty to think about. "How's the time going?" asked Billy at length. Psmith felt for his watch, and looked at Billy with some sadness. "I am sorry to say, Comrade Windsor--" "Hullo," said Billy, "here's that man coming back again." The stranger came up to their table, wearing a light overcoat over his dress clothes. From the pocket of this he produced a gold watch. "Force of habit," he said apologetically, handing it to Psmith. "You'll pardon me. Good night, gentlemen, again." CHAPTER XII A RED TAXIMETER The Astor Hotel faces on to Times Square. A few paces to the right of the main entrance the Times Building towers to the sky; and at the foot of this the stream of traffic breaks, forming two channels. To the right of the building is Seventh Avenue, quiet, dark, and dull. To the left is Broadway, the Great White Way, the longest, straightest, brightest, wickedest street in the world. Psmith and Billy, having left the Astor, started to walk down Broadway to Billy's lodgings in Fourteenth Street. The usual crowd was drifting slowly up and down in the glare of the white lights. They had reached Herald Square, when a voice behind them exclaimed, "Why, it's Mr. Windsor!" They wheeled round. A flashily dressed man was standing with outstetched hand. "I saw you come out of the Astor," he said cheerily. "I said to myself, 'I know that man.' Darned if I could put a name to you, though. So I just followed you along, and right here it came to me." "It did, did it?" said Billy politely.