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Page 31
The speech for both Winthrop and Miss Forbes was equally
embarrassing.
"You don't say?" exclaimed Winthrop nervously. He shook the
policeman's hand. The handclasp was apparently satisfactory
to that official, for he murmured "Thank you," and stuck
something in the lining of his helmet. "Now, then!" Winthrop
said briskly to Miss Forbes, "I think we have done all we can.
And we'll get away from this place a little faster than the
law allows."
Miss Forbes had seated herself in the car, and Winthrop was
cranking up, when the same policeman, wearing an anxious
countenance, touched him on the arm. "There is a gentleman
here," he said, "wants to speak to you." He placed himself
between the gentleman and Winthrop and whispered: "He's
`Izzy' Schwab, he's a Harlem police-court lawyer and a Tammany
man. He's after something, look out for him."
Winthrop saw, smiling at him ingratiatingly, a slight, slim
youth, with beady, rat-like eyes, a low forehead, and a
Hebraic nose. He wondered how it had been possible for Jerry
Gaylor to so quickly secure counsel. But Mr. Schwab at once
undeceived him.
"I'm from the Journal," he began, "not regular on the staff,
but I send 'em Harlem items, and the court reporter treats me
nice, see! Now about this accident; could you give me the
name of the young lady?"
He smiled encouragingly at Miss Forbes.
"I could not!" growled Winthrop. "The man wasn't hurt, the
policeman will tell you so. It is not of the least public
interest."
With a deprecatory shrug, the young man smiled knowingly.
"Well, mebbe not the lady's name," he granted, "but the name
of the OTHER gentleman who was with you, when the accident
occurred." His black, rat-like eyes snapped. "I think HIS
name would be of public interest."
To gain time Winthrop stepped into the driver's seat. He
looked at Mr. Schwab steadily.
"There was no other gentleman," he said. "Do you mean my
chauffeur?" Mr. Schwab gave an appreciative chuckle.
"No, I don't mean your chauffeur," he mimicked. "I mean," he
declared theatrically in his best police-court manner, "the
man who to-day is hoping to beat Tammany, Ernest Peabody!"
Winthrop stared at the youth insolently.
"I don't understand you," he said.
"Oh, of course not!" jeered "Izzy" Schwab. He moved excitedly
from foot to foot. "Then who WAS the other man," he
demanded, "the man who ran away?"
Winthrop felt the blood rise to his face. That Miss Forbes
should hear this rat of a man, sneering at the one she was to
marry, made him hate Peabody. But he answered easily:
"No one ran away. I told my chauffeur to go and call up an
ambulance. That was the man you saw."
As when "leading on" a witness to commit himself, Mr. Schwab
smiled sympathetically.
"And he hasn't got back yet," he purred, "has he?"
"No, and I'm not going to wait for him," returned Winthrop.
He reached for the clutch, but Mr. Schwab jumped directly in
front of the car.
"Was he looking for a telephone when he ran up the elevated
steps?" he cried.
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