Vesea got into her carriage, and was driven away. The pair of chestnuts travelled at a brisk trot through the dark deserted streets of Soho towards the West End. The carriage had crossed Regent Street and was just entering Berkeley Square when a hansom, coming at a gallop along Struton Street on the wrong side of the road, collided violently with Vesea’s horses at the corner. At the same moment another carriage, a brougham, came up and stopped. A gentleman jumped out, and assisted in disengaging Vesea’s coachman and footman from the medley of harness and horse-flesh. This done, he spoke to Vesea, who, uninjured, was standing on the footpath.
“One of your chestnuts will have to be shot,” he said, raising his hat. “May I place my own carriage at your disposal?”
Vesea thankfully accepted his offer.
“Where to?” he inquired.
“Upper Brook Street,” she answered. “But you are sure I do not inconvenience you?”
“Curiously enough,” he said, “I live in Upper Brook Street myself, and if I may accompany you——”
“You are more than kind,” she said, and they both entered the brougham, the gentleman having first thoughtfully taken the number of the peccant cabby, and given some valuable advice to Vesea’s coachman.
The brougham disappeared at a terrific pace. But it never went within half a mile of Upper Brook Street. It turned abruptly to the north, crossed Oxford Street, and stopped in front of a large house in a remote street near Paddington Station. At the same instant the door of the house opened, and a man ran down to the carriage. In a moment Vesea, with a cloth wrapped round her head, was carried struggling into the house, and the brougham departed. The thing was done as quickly and silently as in a dream.
The cloth was removed at length, and Vesea found herself in a long bare room, furnished only with chairs and a table. She realised that the carriage accident was merely part of a plot to capture her without fuss and violence. She was incapable of fear, but she was extremely annoyed and indignant. She looked round for the man who enticed her into his brougham. He was not to be seen; his share of the matter was over. Two other men sat at the table. Vesea stared at them in speechless anger. As to them, they seemed to ignore her.
“Where is the Chief?” said one to the other.