In London dark nights are the rule, not the exception. More especially
in the month of November; when the fog rolls up from the muddy Thames,
spreading its plague-like pall over the metropolis.
On just such a night a cab might have been seen issuing from the
_embouchure_ of South Bank, passing down Park Road, and turning abruptly
into the Park, through the "Hanover Gate."
So dense was the fog, it could only have been seen by one who chanced to
be near it; and very near to know that it was a hansom.
The bull's-eye burning overhead in front reflected inside just
sufficient light to show that it carried only a single "fare," of the
masculine gender.
A more penetrating light would have made apparent a gentleman--so far as
dress was concerned--sitting with something held in his hand that
resembled a hunting-whip.
But the brightest light would not have sufficed for the scanning of his
face--concealed as it was behind a covering of crape.
Before the cab carrying him had got clear of the intricacies of South
Bank, a low whistle was heard both by him and his driver.
He seemed to have been listening for it; and was not surprised to see
another cab--a hansom like his own--standing on the corner of Park Road
as he passed out--its Jehu, with reins in hand, just settling himself
upon his seat, as if preparing to start. Any one, who could have looked
upon his face at the moment, could have told he had been expecting it.
Nor was he astonished, on passing through Hanover Gate, to perceive that
the second cab was coming after him.
If you enter the Regent's Park by this gate, take the left hand turning,
and proceed for about a quarter of a mile, you will reach a spot
secluded as any within the limits of London. It is where the canal,
traversing along the borders of the Park, but inside its palings, runs
between deep embankments, on both sides densely wooded. So solitary is
this place, that a stranger to the locality could not believe himself to
be within the boundaries of the British metropolis.
On the night in question neither the Park hag, nor its constable, were
encountered along the drive. The damp, dense fog rendered it
uncomfortable for both.
All the more favourable for him carried in the leading cab, whose design
required darkness.
"Jarvey?" said he, addressing himself to his driver, through the little
trap-door overhead. "You see that hansom behind us?"
"Can't see, but I hear it, sir."
"Well; there's a gentleman inside it I intend horsewhipping."
"All right, sir. Tell me when you want to stop."
"I want to stop about three hundred yards this side of the Zoological
Gardens. There's a copse that comes close to the road. Pull up
alongside of it; and stay there till I return to you."
"Ay, ay, sir," responded the driver, who, having received a sovereign in
advance, was dead-bent on obedience. "Anything else I can do for your
honour?"
"All I want of you is, if you hear any interference on the part of _his_
driver, you might leave your horse for a little--just to see fair play."
"Trust me, your honour! Don't trouble yourself about that. I'll take
care of him?"
If there be any chivalry in a London cabman, it is to be found in the
driver of a hansom--especially after having received a sovereign with
the prospect of earning another. This was well-known to his "fare" with
the craped face.
On reaching the described copse the leading cab was pulled up--its
passenger leaping instantly out, and gliding in under the trees.
Almost at the same instant, its pursuer came to a stand--somewhat to the
surprise of him who sate inside it.
"They've stopped, sir," said the driver, whispering down through the
trap.
"I see that, damn them! What can it be for?"
"To give you a horsewhipping!" cried a man with a masked face, springing
up on the footboard, and clutching the inquirer by the collar.
A piteous cry from Mr Swinton--for it was he--did not hinder him from
being dragged out of his hansom, and receiving a chastisement he would
remember to his dying day!
His driver, leaping from the box, made show to interfere. But he was
met by another driver equally eager, and somewhat stronger; who, seizing
him by the throat, did not let go his hold of him till he had fairly
earned the additional sovereign!
A policeman who chanced to overhear the piteous cries of Swinton, came
straddling up to the spot; but only after the scuffle had ended, and the
wheels of a swift cab departing through the thick fog told him he was
too late to take the aggressor into custody!
The spy proceeded no farther.
After being disembarrassed of the policeman, he was but too happy to be
driven back to the villa in South Bank.