“Of course! I couldn’t remember its stupid name.”
“But I shouldn’t tell him to put us down just there. You don’t know who may be waiting for us.”
I was leaning over the front of the cab, keeping a sharp look-out. There were the crowded trams and omnibuses, and many people on the pavements; but I noticed nothing in any way suspicious.
“Who should be waiting for us? Haven’t we shaken Mr. Lander off? Didn’t the cabman say so?”
“Yes. But—you never know.”
“What do you mean? What are you driving at?”
“Nothing. Only it’s past nine. The letter said that it was the time your greatest peril began.”
“What nonsense you do talk! Do you think I pay attention to such stuff? Lucky I’m not nervous, or you’d give me the fidgets. The sooner everybody understands that I intend to go in and out of my own house at any time I please the less trouble there is likely to be. I’m not a child, to be told at what time I’m to come home.”
I was silent. She spoke boldly enough; a trifle too boldly I thought. There was an unnecessary amount of vigour in her tone, as if she wished to impress the whole world with the fact that she was not in the least concerned. But she acted on the hint all the same—she stopped the cab before we reached our destination.
“It’s all right now, miss,” said the driver. It was rather a novel sensation for us to be riding in cabs, and the fare we paid him did make a hole in one’s purse. It was lucky there was that four hundred and eighty-eight pounds nineteen shillings and sixpence to fall back upon. “You’ve seen the last of that fine gentleman, for to-night at any rate. Good-night, miss, and thank you.”
I was not so sure that it was all right. We might have seen the last of “that fine gentleman,” as the cabman called Mr. Lander, though there was nothing
