Read Online Ghost of a Chance by Kelley Roos - Free Book Online

the picture eased it out of Jeff’s hands and studied it again.
    “Somethin’ about this,” he said, “seems familiar to me.”
    “The horse?” Jeff said. “Do you recognize the horse?”
    “Never seen the horse.”
    He glanced over at the row of hansoms and back at the picture. Jeff and I crowded close to him and did the same thing. We all got it at once.
    “That’s my cab,” the man said.
    The picture went the rounds once more and everybody agreed that the hansom in the picture was the hansom now being driven by Tom Markey. Tom took this as a bit of glory; this was something that didn’t happen to a man every day. He was all smiles now, and his red nose seemed to glow ten watts more.
    “What d’ya know about that?” Tom chuckled. He held the picture at arm’s length. “Good likeness.”
    “Do you own this cab?” Jeff asked.
    “No, oh, no,” Tom said. “We all rent them. Except Larkins there, he owns his.”
    “Where do you rent them?”
    “Tollman’s Stable. On Sixty-third, right off First Avenue.”
    “They might be able to help me,” Jeff said.
    “Wouldn’t be surprised,” Tom said. “Talk to old Tollman himself.”
    “Thanks,” Jeff said.
    “Say, young fellow,” Tom said.
    “Yes?”
    “Mind if I keep this picture of my cab?”
    “Right now I need it. But I’ll see that you get a copy.”
    “I’d appreciate it if you would.”
    “I will,” Jeff promised.
    We thanked everybody again, said good-by and lit out for Tollman’s Stable. We couldn’t find a taxi. We walked across Fifth Avenue and over to Madison in search of one. There we decided to take a crosstown bus to First Avenue. Jeff whistled a merry tune while we waited.
    I, too, felt fine. Actually, it wasn’t much. Locating a man who owned a hansom cab that was driven years ago by a man who knew the name of a woman who was slated to be murdered was still a long way from finding that woman. But it was something, a little something. After hours and hours of nothing but high, thick, stone walls it was worth whistling about. I joined Jeff, supplying some doubtful harmony to his doubtful melody of that recorded cantata in praise of Piel’s light beer of Broadway fame.
    I looked at Jeff; he had stopped whistling.
    He put his hand on my arm. “It’s all right to look now,” he said. “Across the street. On the corner.”
    Across the street, on the corner, his head turned in profile against the wind while he lit a cigarette, was Eddie Joyce. He got his cigarette going. He took a deep drag and let all the smoke come out of his nose. He flipped his coat collar up closer to the brim of his hat and turned toward us. By the time his eyes reached us we were studiously looking at each other.
    “He can’t be following us,” I said. “How could he have found us?”
    “He must have discovered that we were gone right after we got out of the cellar. He knew we’d go back to Frank’s rooming house, it was the only place for us to go. He picked us up there.”
    I glanced back at Joyce. He had found a spot in a shop doorway that was a nice place from which to watch us. I could tell from his nonchalance that he didn’t know yet that we had spotted him.
    “Haila,” Jeff said, “you go to the stable.”
    “You mean we’ll separate?”
    “Yes. Joyce will follow me. I’ll take care of him; you take care of old man Tollman. Show him the picture. Find out anything you can about Frank.”
    “All right.”
    Jeff casually turned his back to Joyce’s side of the street and slipped the picture to me. I slid it quickly into my purse.
    I said, “How will we get together again?”
    “Let’s see… it probably should be in this part of town. The Waldorf. The Park Avenue lobby of the Waldorf. Go there as soon as you can. If you have to wait long for me, ask for a message at the desk. I’ll try to get word to you.”
    “Jeff, what might happen to you?”
    He laughed at me. “Just wait till you see the other guy.”
    We walked to the