Jacques Futrelle

“ The thud of his fall on the pavement startled the chauffeur, who seemed to awake suddenly to the extraordinary happenings in his cab, and the taxi began to slow. Mr. Smith thrust his head out the window over the chauffeur’s shoulder.
“You understand English, don’t you?”
“Oui, oui! Yes, sir.”
“Well, this is a revolver here in my right hand—this, I mean,” and Mr. Smith prodded him in the small of the back with his huge forefinger. “A gun, do you understand? Now it’s up to you to run like the deuce. Beat it!” ”

“ Smith glanced back again. He wasn’t positive, but his impression was that the cab in the rear had gained substantially. And that called for more thought. After twenty full seconds spent in consideration of the matter, he thrust his head out of the cab to hold converse with François. “Now, see here, son,” he began, “don’t stop driving, but listen to me. The harder you listen the less liable you are to get shot up.” ”

“ Suddenly that mighty arm from Passaic swung, and a fist, hard as nails, landed squarely on the point of M. Remi’s chin.
JUST as M. Polichinelle vanishes in the Théâtre Guignol, so vanished M. Remi. He tumbled backward without a sound. ”