He had changed his clothes and linen, but one glance at his nose showed that I had marked my bird, even if the porter hadn't given me the mystic sign at the right moment.

I received my orders, and off we went, a second cab following, with the driver of my taxi as a fare.

Evidently, the Count was not well posted in New York distances, because he grew restive, and wondered where I was taking him.

He tried to be artful, too, and when we reached East Broadway he pulled me up at the corner of Market Street, told me to wait, and lodged a five-dollar bill as security, saying I would have annozzaire when we got back to the hotel.

Didn't that make things easy?
He plunged into the crowd--you know what a bunch of Russians, Hungarians, and Polish Jews get together in East Broadway about ten-thirty--so I rushed to the second cab, swapped coats and hats again, gave the taxi-man the five-spot, and put him in charge of his own cab.