BY
Louis Tracy
1915
| Chapter I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII |
"Taxi, sir? Yes, sir. No. 4 will be yours."
A red-faced, loud-breathing commissionaire, engaged in the lucrativetask of pocketing sixpences as quickly as he could summon cabs, vanishedin a swirl of macintoshes and umbrellas.
People who had arrived at the theater in fine weather were emerging intoa drizzle of rain. "All London," as the phrase goes, was flocking to seethe latest musical comedy at Daly's, but all London, regarded thuscollectively, is far from owning motor cars, or even affording taxicabs,so the majority of the play-goers were hurrying on foot towards tuberailways and omnibus routes.
Still, a popular light opera could hardly fail to draw many patrons fromthe upper ranks of society, and, in the crush at the main exit, FrancisBerrold Theydon, hesitating whether to walk or wait the hazard of a cab,deemed himself fortunate when a panting commissionaire promised tosecure a taxi "in half a minute."
Automobiles of every known variety were snorting up to the curb andbustling off again as promptly as their users could enter and bestowthemselves in dim interiors. Being a considerate person—wishful also tolight a cigarette—Theydon moved out of the way. In so doing, he wascannoned against by an impetuous footman, whose cry, "Your car, sir,"led him to follow the man's alert eyes.
He saw a tall, elderly gentleman, with clean-shaven, shrewd, and highlyintelligent features, of the type which finance, or the law, or acombination of both, seems to evolve only in big cities, escorting ayoung lady from the vestibule. Then Theydon remembered that he hadnoticed this self-same girl's remarkable beauty as she was silhouettedin white against the dark background of a first-tier box. He had evenspeculated idly as to her identity, and had come to the conclusion, oncatching her face in profile, that she must be the daughter of the manseated by her side but half-hidden behind a heavy curtain.
The likeness was momentarily lost now while the two neared him, yetdiscovered anew when they halted for a second at his elbow. Oddlyenough, the man was carrying an umbrella, which he proceeded to open,and his daughter's astonished question put their relationship beyonddoubt.
"Dad," she said, with a charming smile in which there was just a hint ofa pout, "aren't you coming home with me?"
"No. I must look in at the Constitutional Club. It's only a step. I'lltake no harm. This sleet looks worse than it is when every drop shinesin the glare of so many lamps. Now, in with you, Evelyn! Tell Downs tocome back, and don't forget which club. Anyhow, I'll tell him myself."
"Shall I wait up for you?"
"Well—er—I shan't be late. I'll