"I have just heard from my father's man of business, and I'm afraid it would be impolitic not to see him. Do you mind if I leave you here?"

"Surely, my dear fellow, I vould not stop you. Already I feel at home by myself."

"Then we shall meet at the hotel before dinner. Good luck with the ladies, Baron."

Mr Bunker jumped into the cab, saying only to the driver, "To the city, as quick as you can."

"What part, sir?"

"Oh, say the Bank. Hurry up!"

Then as the man whipped up, Mr Bunker had a glimpse of Moggridge hailing another cab, and peeping cautiously through the little window at the back he saw him starting in hot pursuit. He took five shillings out of his pocket and opened the trap-door in the roof.

"Do you see that other cab chasing us, with a red-faced man inside?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr Bunker handed his driver the money.

"Get rid of him, then. Take me anywhere through the city you like, and when he's off the scent let me know."

"Very good, sir," replied the driver, cracking his whip till his steed began to move past the buses and the other cabs like a train.

On they flew, clatter and jingle, twisting like a snipe through the traffic. Mr Bunker perceived that he had a good horse and a good driver, and he smiled in pleasant excitement. He lit a cigar, leaned his arms on the doors, and settled himself to enjoy the race.

The black lions of Trafalgar Square flew by, then the colossal hotels of Northumberland Avenue and the railway bridge at Charing Cross, and they were going at a gallop along the Embankment. He got swift glimpses of other cabs and foot-pa.s.sengers, the trees seemed to flit past like telegraph-posts on a railway, the barges and lighters on the river dropped one by one behind them: it was a fair course for a race, with never a check before Blackfriar's Bridge.

As they turned into Queen Victoria Street he opened the lid and asked, "Are they still in sight?"

"Yes, sir; I'm afraid we ain't gaining much yet. But I'll do it, sir, no fears."

Mr Bunker lay back and laughed.

"This is better than the Park," he said to himself.

They had a fine drive up Queen Victoria Street before they plunged into the whirlpool of traffic at the Bank. They were slowly making their way across when the driver, spying an opening in another stream, abruptly wheeled round for Cornhill, and presently they were off again at top speed.

"Thrown them off?" asked Mr Bunker.

"Tried to, sir, but they were too sharp and got clear away too."

Mr Bunker saw that it was going to be a stern chase, and laughed again. In order that he might not show ostensibly that he was running away, he resisted the temptation of having another peep through the back, and resigned himself to the chances of the chase.

Through and through the lanes and byways of the city they drove, and after each double the answer from the box was always the same. The cab behind could not be shaken off.

"Work your way round to Holborn and try a run west," Mr Bunker suggested.

So after a little they struck Newgate Street, and presently their steed stretched himself again in Holborn Viaduct.

"Gaining now, cabby?"

"A little, sir, I think."

Mr Bunker sat placidly till they were well along Holborn before he inquired again.

"Can't get rid of 'im no 'ow. Afride it ain't much good, sir."

Mr Bunker pa.s.sed up five shillings more.

"Keep your tail up. You'll do it yet," he exhorted. "Try a turn north; you may bother him among the squares."

So they doubled north, and as the evening closed in their wearied horse was lashed through a maze of monotonous streets and tarnished Bloomsbury Squares. And still the other cab stuck to their trail. But when they emerged on the Euston Road, Mr Bunker was as cheerful as ever.

"They can't last much longer," he said to his driver. "Turn up Regent's Park way."

A little later he put the usual question and got the same unvarying answer.

The horse was evidently beginning to fail, and he saw that this chariot-race must soon come to an end. The street-lamps and the shop windows were all lit up by this time, and the dusk was pretty thick. It seemed to him that he might venture to try his luck on foot, and he began to look out for an opening where a cab could not follow.

They were flogging along a noisy stone-paved road where there was little other traffic; on one side stood an unbroken row of houses, and on the other were small semi-detached villas with little strips of garden about them. All at once he saw a doctor's red lamp over the door of one of these half villas, and an inspiration came upon him.

"One can always visit a doctor," he said to himself, and smiled in great amus.e.m.e.nt at something in the reflection.

He stopped the cab, handed the man half a sovereign, and saying only, "Drive away again, quickly," jumped out, glanced at the name on the plate, and pulled the bell. As he waited on the step he saw the other cab stop a little way back, and his pursuer emerge.

A frowsy little servant opened the door.

"Is Dr Twiddel at home?" he asked.

"Dr Twiddel's abroad, sir," said the maid.

"No one in at all, then?"

"Dr Billson sees 'is patients, sir-w'en there _his_ any."

"When do you expect Dr Billson?"

"In about an hour, sir, 'e usually comes hin."

"Excellent!" thought Mr Bunker. Aloud he said, "Well, I'm a patient. I'll come in and wait."

He stepped in, and the door banged behind him.

CHAPTER VIII.