TWO CABMEN ARE STARTLED
Hats are uncertain quantities. Sometimes they represent ten minutes,
sometimes twenty, sometimes sixty. It is hardly likely that any woman
ever "put a hat on" in two. Miss Angel was quick. Still, before she
reappeared Mr. Roland had arrived at something which resembled a mental
resolution. He hurled it at her as soon as she was through the doorway.
"Miss Angel, before we start upon our errand I should like to make
myself clear to you at least upon one point. I am aware that I am
responsible for the destruction of your hopes--morally and actually. I
should like you therefore to understand that, should the case go
against you, you will find me personally prepared to make good your
loss so far as in my power lies. I should, of course, regard it as my
simple duty."
She smiled at him, really nicely.
"You are Quixotic, Mr. Roland. Though it is very good of you all the
same. But before we talk about such things I should like to see your
sister, if you don't mind."
At this hint he moved to the door. As they went towards the hall he
said:--
"I hope you are building no high hopes upon your interview with my
sister. I know my sister, you understand; and though she is the best
woman in the world, I fear that she attached so little importance to
the bag that she has allowed its fate to escape her memory altogether."
"One does allow unimportant matters to escape one's memory, doesn't
one?"
Her words were ambiguous. He wondered what she meant. It was she who
started the conversation when they were in the cab.
"Would it be very improper to ask what you think of the case so far as
it has gone?"
He was sensible that it would be most improper. But, then, there had
been so much impropriety about his proceedings already that perhaps he
felt that a little more or less did not matter. He answered as if he
had followed the proceedings with unflagging attention.
"I think your case is very strong."
"Really? Without the bag?"
It was a simple fact that he had but the vaguest notion of what had
been stated upon the other side. Had he been called upon to give even a
faint outline of what the case for the opposition really was he would
have been unable to do so. But so trivial an accident did not prevent
his expressing a confident opinion.
"Certainly; as it stands."
"But won't it look odd if I am unable to produce the will?"
Mr. Roland pondered; or pretended to.
"No doubt the introduction of the will would bring the matter to an
immediate conclusion. But, as it is, your own statement is so clear
that it seems to me to be incontrovertible."
"Truly? And do your colleagues think so also?"
He knew no more what his "colleagues" thought than the man in the moon.
But that was of no consequence.
"I think you may take it for granted that they are not all idiots. I
believe, indeed, that it is generally admitted that in most juries
there is a preponderance of common sense."
She sighed, a little wistfully, as if the prospect presented by his
words was not so alluring as she would have desired. She kept her eyes
fixed on his face--a fact of which he was conscious.
"Oh, I wish I could find the will!"
While he was still echoing her wish with all his heart a strange thing
happened.
The cabman turned a corner. It was dark. He did not think it necessary
to slacken his pace. Nor, perhaps, to keep a keen look-out for what was
advancing in an opposite direction. Tactics which a brother Jehu
carefully followed. Another hansom was coming round that corner too.
Both drivers, perceiving that their zeal was excessive, endeavoured to
avoid disaster by dragging their steeds back upon their haunches. Too
late! On the instant they were in collision. In that brief, exciting
moment Mr. Roland saw that the sole occupant of the other hansom was a
lady. He knew her. She knew him.
"It's Agatha!" he cried.
"Philip!" came in answer.
Before either had a chance to utter another word hansoms, riders, and
drivers were on the ground. Fortunately the horses kept their heads,
being possibly accustomed to little diversions of the kind. They merely
continued still, as if waiting to see what would happen next. In
consequence he was able to scramble out himself, and to assist Miss
Angel in following him.
"Are you hurt?" he asked.
"I don't think so; not a bit."
"Excuse me, but my sister's in the other cab."
"Your sister!"
He did not wait to hear. He was off like a flash. From the ruins of the
other vehicle--which seemed to have suffered most in the contact--he
gradually extricated the dishevelled Mrs. Tranmer. She seemed to be in
a sad state. He led her to a chemist's shop, which luckily stood open
close at hand, accompanied by Miss Angel and a larger proportion of the
crowd than the proprietor appeared disposed to welcome. He repeated the
inquiry he had addressed to Miss Angel.
"Are you hurt?"
This time the response was different.
"Of course I'm hurt. I'm shaken all to pieces; every bone in my body's
broken; there's not a scrap of life left in me. Do you suppose I'm the
sort of creature who can be thrown about like a shuttlecock and not be
hurt?"
Something, however, in her tone suggested that her troubles might after
all be superficial.
"If you will calm yourself, Agatha, perhaps you may find that your
injuries are not so serious as you imagine."
"They couldn't be, or I should be dead. The worst of it is that this
all comes of my flying across London to take that twopenny-halfpenny
bag to that ridiculous young woman of yours."
He started.
"The bag! Agatha! have you found it?"
"Of course I've found it. How do you suppose I could be tearing along
with it in my hands if I hadn't?" The volubility of her utterance
pointed to a rapid return to convalescence. "It seems that I gave it to
Jane, or she says that I did, though I have no recollection of doing
anything of the kind. As she had already plenty of better bags of her
own, probably most of them mine, she didn't want it, so she gave it to
her sister-in-law. Directly I heard that, I dragged her into a cab and
tore off to the woman's house. The woman was out, and, of course, she'd
taken the bag with her to do some shopping. I packed off her husband
and half-a-dozen children to scour the neighbourhood for her in
different directions, and I thought I should have a fit while I waited.
The moment she appeared I snatched the bag from her hand, flung myself
back into the cab--and now the cab has flung me out into the road, and
heaven only knows if I shall ever be the same woman I was before I
started."
"And the bag! Where is it?" She looked about her with bewildered eyes.
"The bag? I haven't the faintest notion. I must have left it in the
cab."
Mr. Roland rushed out into the street. He gained the vehicle in which
Mrs. Tranmer had travelled. It seemed that one of the shafts had been
wrenched right off, but they had raised it to what was as nearly an
upright position as circumstances permitted.
"Where's the hand-bag which was in that cab?"
"Hand-bag?" returned the driver. "I ain't seen no hand-bag. So far I
ain't hardly seen the bloomin' cab."
A voice was heard at Mr. Roland's elbows.
"This here bloke picked up a bag--I see him do it."
Mr. Roland's grip fastened on the shoulder of the "bloke" alluded to,
an undersized youth apparently not yet in his teens. The young
gentleman resented the attention.
"'Old 'ard, guv'nor! I picked up the bag, that's all right; I was just
a-wondering who it might belong to."
"It belongs to the lady who was riding in the cab. Kindly hand it
over."
It was "handed over"; borne back into the chemist's shop; proffered to
Miss Angel.
"I believe that this is the missing bag, apparently not much the worse
for its various adventures."
"It is the bag." She opened it. Apparently it was empty. But on her
manipulating an unseen fastening an inner pocket was disclosed. From it
she took a folded paper. "And here is the will!"