An empty hansom wheeled round the corner of the square; the
cabman, seeing him, raised his whip in query, and involuntarily
he nodded an acquiescence. A moment later he had helped Eve
into the cab.
"Middle Temple Lane!" he directed, pausing on the step.
"Middle Temple Lane is opposite to Clifford's Inn," he
explained as he took his place beside her. "When we get out
there we have only to cross Fleet Street."
Eve bent her head in token that she understood, and the cab
moved out into the roadway.
Within a few minutes the neighborhood of Grosvenor Square was
exchanged for the noisier and more crowded one of Piccadilly,
but either the cabman was overcautious or the horse was below
the average, for they made but slow progress through the more
crowded streets. To the two sitting in silence the pace was
wellnigh unbearable. With every added movement the tension
grew. The methodical care with which they moved seemed like
the tightening of a string already strained to breaking-point,
yet neither spoke--because neither had the courage necessary
for words.
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