He took his leave, lit a cigarette on the kerb, assumed an almost horizontal position in the car, and shot like a rocket into the heart of the Piccadilly traffic. In rather less than five minutes I was ringing the bell at Number 100, John Street, and after a very brief delay was taken upstairs to a cool and pleasantly furnished bedroom. Mr. Thomson, almost undistinguishable for bandages, motioned to a chair by his bedside and the nurse departed.
"They pretty nearly got me this time, Lister," he remarked.
Curiosity mastered sympathy.
"Who did?" I asked breathlessly.
Mr. Thomson lay quite still, with his eyes fixed upon the ceiling.
"A little company of men," he said, "who are dangerous fellows to deal with—very dangerous," he repeated pensively.
"Are you badly hurt?"
He shook his head.
"I am scarcely hurt at all."
"The newspapers," I began——