"There! See those three? That's them," she whispered excitedly. "Off
you go!"
And off he went, as if life depended upon it; his eyes on the
brougham, his heart throbbing violently, moisture dropping from his
forehead and making his collar limp. The carriage disengaged itself,
the pace quickened, he began to run, and collided with pedestrians
who cursed him. Now--now or never--a cab!
By good luck he plunged into a hansom wanting a fare.
"The carriage--friends of mine--that carriage!"
"Ketch 'em up?" asked the driver briskly.
"No--same 'ouse--follow!"
As he flung himself into the vehicle he seriously feared he was on
the point of breaking a blood vessel, never had he been at such
extremity of breath. But his eyes clung to the brougham in dread
lest he should lose sight of it, or confuse it with another. The
driver whipped his horse. Thank goodness, the carriage remained well
in sight. But if there should come a block! A perilous point was
Piccadilly Circus. Never, it seemed to him, had the streets of
London roared with such a tumult of traffic.
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