"
Luckily, Curtis found his overcoat awaiting him in the cloak room, or
he might have been in a difficulty, for New York in November is not a
city which encourages midnight journeys in evening dress.
Uncle Horace and Aunt Louisa were hurried into a taxi, and as they were
being whisked off to the quiet hotel to which their baggage had been
consigned, the stout man began polishing his domed forehead once more.
"Lou," he said, "I can't make head nor tail of this business. Can you?"
"Not yet, Horace," was the hopeful response.
"But--what sort of marriage is this, anyway?"
"Oh, that's all right. Those two haven't begun courting yet. But it
won't be long before they start. Did you notice----"
And details observed by Aunt Louisa endured till the taxi stopped.
CHAPTER X
MIDNIGHT
After a quick journey by New York's unrivaled system of rapid transit,
the three men alighted at Spring Street, and a couple of minutes' brisk
walk brought them to a large, white-fronted building of severe
architecture. Above the main entrance two green lamps stared solemnly
into the night, and their monitory gleam seemed to bid evildoers
"Beware!"; nor was there aught far-fetched in the notion, because from
this imposing center New York's guardians kept watch and ward over the
city.
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