“You get off here!” he commanded.  “Maybe you’re a ‘Pink,’ maybe you’re a good fellow.  I think you’re a good fellow, but I’m not taking any chances.  Get out!”

Ford scrambled to the street, and as the taxicab again butted itself forward, Ashton leaned far through the window.  “Good-by, son,” he called.  “Send me a picture-postal card to Paris.  For I am off to Maxim’s,” he cried, “and you can go to—­”

“Not at all!” shouted the amateur detective indignantly.  “I’m going back to take supper with ’Baby Belle’!”