"But nobody knows me at this address," said Greg astonished. "Who did he ask for?" "The driver of T7011." Greg went through to the yard. The man waiting there wore the uniform of a taxi-driver of the better class, but there was no sign of a cab. "You want to see me?" said Greg. The other had a naturally truculent manner. "I don't know whether I do or not. I want the driver of T7011." "That's me." He scornfully looked Greg up and down. "G'wan! You ain't one of us!" "Sure, I am. I'm off duty now." "'Tain't good enough, Jack." "Come into the house and the woman will identify me." Bessie, full of curiosity, was already at the kitchen door. She assured the man Greg was what he claimed to be, but the obstinate fellow having made up his mind was not to be swayed. "I don't know _you_," he said to Bessie. "I don't know any of yez. It's a bad neighborhood." The highly incensed Bessie gave him a good piece of her mind; this naturally only confirmed him in his obstinacy. "If the cab's yours where is it now?" he demanded of Greg. "My partner has it out." "Likely story! I'll wait until I see it before I believe it." "Suit yourself," said Greg marching into the house in a rage. Fortunately for his much-tried temper it was not long before Hickey returned. Hearing the "machine-gun" come in, Greg went out into the yard and found the two chauffeurs in talk. "I can't make out what he's driving at," said Hickey scratching his head. "Let him tell me," said Greg. "First tell him that this is my cab." Hickey did so. The other driver was not in the least abashed. Indeed he plumed himself more than ever on his astuteness. "I drive for the New York Western cab service," he said. "They keep a sharp tab on us fellows and the gas we use, and I couldn't get down here until I was off duty. This morning at the Terminal three ladies engaged me: that is they was four in the party but one was a servant----" Greg's heart began to beat. "Old Spanish-looking dame and two pippins, black-head and red-head. Say, red-head was a little queen she was, with a little green hat and a whole grizzly bear around her neck, I guess it was----" "Never mind her description," said Greg impatiently. "We know her. Get ahead!" It only had the result of delaying the story still further. "Say, who's telling this, you or me?" burst out the irritable one. "I ain't telling it for your pleasure anyway, but for her that sent me. What if I do drive a taxi-cab, when I'm off duty I'm as good a man as any." "Sure!" said Greg. "You're all right! But for God's sake get on with your story!" "Well, I was ordered to take them to an apartment house on Riverside, the Stickney Arms it was, Ninety-fourth Street, big, swell place. Half a van load of hand-baggage they had. While it was being carried in the young lady had a chance to speak to me private. Says she: 'Go to Bessie Bickle's taxi-yard on Gibbon Street south of Houston----'