9The yard was as gloomy and dirty as only a London crevice can be. It was both cold and unsavoury, homely and uninviting. As Mr. Campion climbed out of the taxi-cab after making an exhaustive examination, there was a hint of rain falling. Yeo’s red face glistened above his magnificent overcoat.
“What hope?” he enquired.
“Of identifying it? Not a glimmer. Not in the witness-box. I had my little dust-up in the dark, you see. Besides, this damned thing looks like every cab there ever was; it’s been cleaned, too, so there’s not a hope of real proof. The suspicion is tremendous, of course.”
Yeo sighed. “Suspicion doesn’t count,” he said. “Pity you can’t remember something definite. Still, I don’t blame you, you can’t be too careful. I don’t see where it fits in either; you said there was a c
