They wanted to find out where a clergyman lived, an' I couldn't tell them--not about the Protestant Episcopal, I mean, my lord--but the driver of the taxi remembered that there was a minister of that persuasion living in 56th Street, near 7th Avenue, an' next door to a church.

So they made a bee-line that-a-way, my lord, an' I went to see to the furnace, an' that's all there is to it, my lord." "You say the man was not de Courtois ?" queried the Earl impatiently.
"I'm sure he wasn't the man who has passed under that name hereabouts nearly every day for a month, my lord," said Rafferty.
"Oh, some fellow of his own kidney he has hired to assist him," put in Vassilan, who held fast to that theory, in part, even after he had been painfully disillusioned as to other parts of it.

"Come quickly now, you, and tell our chauffeur where to take us." If Rafferty had dared, he would have given the chauffeur directions likely to lead to further bickering, but the presence of the Earl restrained him, for Valletort, though thin and hawk-nosed, was an aristocrat in every inch, whereas Count Ladislas Vassilan wore the stage aspect of a successful pork-butcher.

So he explained matters to the chauffeur, yet smiled grimly when the automobile wheeled away almost in the very tracks of Curtis's taxi.
"Who sez there's no such thing as luck ?" he chuckled.

"That valve knew what it was about when it stuck, an' my name ain't what it is if that wedding isn't over and done with by this time.