By Lester Dent; published by Munsey in 1936
Alexander Titus clamped his elbows to his ribs, cocked his head back and ran. His hat shook off his fuzzy red hair. The missing hat emphasized the ample size of his ears. His coattails threshed.
Alexander Titus held his mouth as if he wanted to bite something.
The tall, dark and very, very handsome young man Titus was chasing reached his taxicab and dived frantically inside. The cab whistled its tires on the pavement in its haste to take off.
Titus put on speed. Four years ago it was in the dashes that he had piled up his decathlon points in the Olympics. He nearly caught the cab. Had he been eight feet tall, and not six-feet-two, he might have succeeded in grabbing the spare tire. But the cab got away.
Titus stopped and said, “Black hair, a female-eyebrow moustache, big feet. And he had that taxi following behind him.”