The woman in the taxi handed him a card; and at the same moment she clutched his collar, and, leaning forward, whispered in his ear:
“Say that Mrs. Rice lives in that house! Pretend to read the card! Quick!”
What could he do? He didn’t want to say anything, but he did not know how to refuse this agitated creature. He took the card, went around to the front of the taxi, and pretended to read the card by the fierce white glare of the headlights.
“Oh!” he said. “Mrs. Bice! I see! She lives there—in that house.”
“Thank you!” said the woman in the taxi.
The instinct of self-preservation warned him to be off then, but he had also another instinct—that of helping other people who were in trouble. Something was obviously wrong here, and, prudent or not, he could not turn his back and walk off. The woman had got out, and stood beside him in the road.
“Please pay him and send him away!” she whispered.
So that was the game!
“I’m sorry,” said Edward blandly, “but I’ve come out without a penny in my pockets.”
“Here!” said she, and thrust a purse into his hand. “Only please get rid of him!”