“Then that is all,” repeated the coroner. “You’d better see her to her cab, Mr. Godfrey,” he added, with a little smile. “She’ll need an escort.”
She rose from her chair and dropped over her face a heavy veil which she had raised about her hat. Godfrey opened the door for her and followed her through. She shrank back from the mob which charged down upon her as soon as she appeared on the threshold, but Godfrey sprang forward quickly to her rescue.
“Keep close to me,” he said, and elbowed a way through the crowd with no great gentleness, despite a chorus of angry protests.
“It’s Godfrey of the Record.”
“Of course; he scents a corpse like a vulture.”
“Well, he’s no right to freeze us out!”
“Madame, we beg of you”
But Godfrey merely smiled grimly and kept straight on, holding his companion firmly by the arm. In a moment, they were down the stairs and at the door of the cab.
“Miss Croydon,” he said, leaning toward her as she took her seat, “do me the favour to deny yourself to all callers tonight.”
“I shall,” she agreed instantly.
“Thank you,” and he stepped back, smiling, as the driver whipped up his horse.
He smiled more broadly still when he saw three other cabs following the first one.
“Now I call that enterprise!” he said to himself.
Then he chuckled again.
