"'No, I haven't,' he answered testily. 'Never was in Gibbon, to my knowledge. Where is it?… But I'll tell you what!' he wound up, fierce and sudden; 'I've met with too many policemen to-night; avenuesh, we've been passin'. Seems to me neighb'rhood infested. Not like Soho. 'Nequal dishtribush'n bobbies. 'Nequal distribush'n everything. Cursh—curse—modern shivilzash'n—damn!'
"'Our taxi,' I mused, 'may have been a magic one. We are in a dream, and the Lady Petunia is part of it. She may vanish at any moment—'
"But Petunia had turned about for a glance along the street behind us. Instead of vanishing, she clawed my arm sharply, suppressed a squeal, and pointed.… Fifty yards away stood a taxi, and two policemen beside it, flashing their lanterns over it and into its interior.
"Between two flashes I recognised it.… It was mine, my Arab taxi, my beautiful, my own.… Farrell's fatal propensity for steering to the right had fetched us around, almost full circle.
"There she stood, with her mute appealing headlights. 'Wha's matter?' asked Farrell. 'Oh, I say—Oh, come! More of 'em?'
"'I dragged him and Petunia back into the shadow under the side-wall of the Picturedrome, and leaned back against the edifice while I mopped my brow. My shoulder-blade encountered the sharp edge of a rainwater pipe. A bright and glorious inspiration took hold of me. Farrell had made all the running, so far: it was time for me to assert my manhood.
"'Wait here,' I whispered, 'and all will be well. In three minutes—'
"'Here, I say!' interposed the Lady Petunia. 'You're not going to do a bilk?'
"'Dear lady,' I answered, 'for at least twenty minutes you have been complaining, and pardonably, that my friend and I have enjoyed the pleasure of your company yet repaid it with no form of entertainment. I fear we cannot offer you Grand Opera. But if your taste inclines to the Movies—'
"'Get along, you silly,' she rebuked me. 'Ain't you sober enough to see the place is closed?'