But I'll tell you what!' he wound up,
fierce and sudden; 'I've met with too many policemen to-night;
avenuesh, we've been passin'. Seems to me neighb'rhood infested.
Not like Soho. 'Nequal dishtribush'n bobbies. 'Nequal distribush'n
everything. Cursh--curse--modern shivilzash'n--damn!'
"'Our taxi,' I mused, 'may have been a magic one. We are in a dream,
and the Lady Petunia is part of it. She may vanish at any moment--'
"But Petunia had turned about for a glance along the street behind
us. Instead of vanishing, she clawed my arm sharply, suppressed a
squeal, and pointed. . . . Fifty yards away stood a taxi, and two
policemen beside it, flashing their lanterns over it and into its
interior.
"Between two flashes I recognised it. . . . It was _mine_, my Arab
taxi, my beautiful, my own. . . . Farrell's fatal propensity for
steering to the right had fetched us around, almost full circle.
"There she stood, with her mute appealing headlights. 'Wha's
matter?' asked Farrell. 'Oh, I say--Oh, come! _More_ of 'em?'
"'I dragged him and Petunia back into the shadow under the side-wall
of the Picturedrome, and leaned back against the edifice while I
mopped my brow.
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