Mr. Jenkins, junior partner in the firm of Baldwin and Jenkins, antique
dealers, Wigpole Street, was in the habit, on fine afternoons, of walking
home from business to his flat in the Brompton Road.
He invariably chose the path which runs parallel to Park Lane, just inside
the Park railings.
Being middle-aged and unmarried he walked slowly and methodically, and was
careful, when he came level with an entrance, to note the particular gates
marked "In" and "Out." He would, as he crossed the "Out" opening, look
sharply to the right, and as he passed the "In" opening look sharply to the
left. "Safety first" was a creed with him.
One mild Spring afternoon, as he was passing by an "Out" aperture, with his
whole attention fixed to the right, he was aware, amid the sound of
motor-horns and shouts, that the roadway had risen up and struck him on the
back of the neck, and that something like the Marble Arch had kicked him at
the same moment.
A week later Mr. Jenkins recovered consciousness in a beautiful clean ward
of St. George's Hospital. A smiling nurse stood by his bed and, as he tried
to sit up, she told him he must be quiet and not disturb the bandages.
"Your friend Mr. Baldwin is coming to see you to-day at two o'clock," she
told him. "No, it is not serious; you are out of danger. Now you have only
to be quiet; so when your friend comes you mustn't talk too much."
He lay still and thought, and it all came back to him. "But, good heavens!"
was his reflection, "that car must have come _in_ by the '_Out_' gate! In
that case," he continued, not without pleasure, "I can claim damages--very
severe damages too."
At two o'clock Mr. Baldwin, his grey-bearded friend and partner, entered.
"Well, Jenkins," said he, "I'm glad to see you've turned the corner. You've
had rather a narrow squeak."
Mr. Jenkins looked at his friend for a moment. "Look here," he said, "I'm
not allowed to speak much, but did you know that that car, when it struck
me, was coming in through an 'Out' gate, and, as that can be proved, don't
you see that I can get pretty good compensation?"
His friend's face remained solemn. "I fear not," he said.
"But I must," said Jenkins. "It's as clear as can be. Scores of people must
have seen it."
Mr. Baldwin shook his head horizontally.
"Heavy damages," said Mr. Jenkins, "I repeat."
"I've gone into it," his partner replied, "and it's hopeless."
"Why?" asked the sick man.
"I'll tell you," said Mr. Baldwin. "Because that car belonged to the Duke
of Mudcaster."
"The more reason," said Mr. Jenkins, "for heavy damages. Very heavy. The
Duke's rolling."
"Maybe he rolls," said Mr. Baldwin. "But that is not all. Listen. The Duke
of Mudcaster is the only representative of the Pennecuiks, whose founder
had the good fortune to be of some service to KING WILLIAM III. For this
service he and his posterity were allowed the privilege of entering places
by gates marked 'Out' and leaving by gates marked 'In.'"
Mr. Jenkins sat half up, groaned and subsided again. He said nothing.
"Well, I must say good-bye now," said Mr. Baldwin. "Sorry I've depressed
you about compensation, but you never had an earthly. See you again soon.
So long."
For some minutes Mr. Jenkins remained as one stunned. Then he began to
think again. "I wonder," he said once or twice, for he knew his
partner,--"I wonder. Could it have been Baldwin himself in his old Ford?
Could it?"
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Old Lady_ (_ruminating_). "WHAT A POOR SUPPLY OF GAS THERE
IS! AH, WELL, I MUSTN'T GRUMBLE. PERHAPS WE ARE ATTACKING WITH GAS AT THE
FRONT TO-DAY." ]
* * * * *