For a moment she clung to him.
"He is there--in the cab," she moaned.

"Where can I hide ?" "Whoever it is," Wrayson answered, with his eyes fixed upon the hansom, "he is either drunk or asleep." "Or dead!" she whispered in his ear.

"Go and see!" Then, before Wrayson could recover from the shock of her words, she was gone, flitting down the unlit side of the street with swift silent footsteps.

His eyes followed her mechanically.

Then, when she had turned the corner, he crossed the pavement towards the cab.