As the door opened, a thick and husky voice inquired: "Gent of the name of Polton live here ?" "Yes, quite right," said Thorndyke.

"Come in.

Your name is Wilkins, I think ?" "That's me, sir," said the voice; and in response to Thorndyke's invitation, a typical "growler" cabman of the old school, complete even to imbricated cape and dangling badge, stalked into the room, and glancing round with a mixture of embarrassment and defiance, suddenly fixed on Polton's nose a look of devouring curiosity.
"Here you are, then," Polton remarked nervously.
"Yus," replied the cabman in a slightly hostile tone.

"Here I am.

What am I wanted to do?
And where's this here Mr.Polton ?" "I am Mr.Polton," replied our abashed assistant.
"Well, it's the other Mr.Polton what I want," said the cabman, with his eyes still riveted on the olfactory prominence.
"There isn't any other Mr.Polton," our subordinate replied irritably.
"I am the--er--person who spoke to you in the shelter." "Are you though ?" said the manifestly incredulous cabby.