“Very well.”
The last George saw of her was another of those exhilarating smiles of hers. It was literally the last he saw of her for when he returned not more than two minutes later, the cab had gone, the girl had gone, and the world was empty.
To him, gaping at this wholly unforeseen calamity, the commissionaire vouchsafed information.
“The young lady took the cab on, sir.”
“Took the cab on?”
“Almost immediately after you had gone, sir, she got in again and told the man to drive to Waterloo.”
George could make nothing of it. He stood there in silent perplexity, and might have continued to stand indefinitely, had not his mind been distracted by a dictatorial voice at his elbow.
“You, sir! Dammit!”
A second taxicab had pulled up, and from it a stout, scarlet-faced young man had sprung. One glance told George all. The hunt was up once more. The bloodhound had picked up the trail. Percy was in again!
For the first time since he had become aware of her flight, George was thankful that the girl had disappeared. He perceived that he had too quickly eliminated Percy from the list of the Things That Matter. Engrossed with his own affairs, and having regarded their late skirmish as a decisive battle from which there would be no rallying, he had overlooked the possibility of this annoying and unnecessary person following them in another cab, a task which, in the congested, slow-moving traffic, must have been a perfectly simple one. Well, here he was, his soul manifestly all stirred up and his blood pressure at a far higher figure than his doctor would have approved of,
