the driver was some luggage. She was going away. In a flash he realised that this was his supreme opportunity.
With the wild look of a hunted man, he glanced about him. All the taxis were full. He could not hurl from one of them its occupants, and by threats make the driver follow that in which the Rain-Girl was seated. He could not ask some one to allow him to enter their vehicle, and instruct the driver to follow another taxi. They would think him mad. There seemed nothing for it but to follow on foot, to run for it.
The picture of a man in a top hat and morning-coat tearing down the Mall in pursuit of a taxi was bound to arouse comment, he told himself; yet there seemed nothing else to do. With a wild dash he got between two vehicles, his intention being to cut through St. James's Palace and thus save a corner. No doubt the Rain-Girl was making for Victoria. What irony of fate that he should be in the one spot in London where a taxi was most difficult to obtain!
Just as he was about to dive to the right, a taxi came out of the gates by St. James's Palace, bound northwards. It was empty. Dashing across to it he hailed the man.
"Swing round and drive to Victoria like hell, and I'll give you a sovereign."
Beresford jumped in as the man swung his vehicle round, amidst a perfect deluge of curses from a brother of the wheel, whose off mudguard he
