But the coughing went on, and in a hideous fit of rage, Pelamon flew at the shadow, jumped on it, stamped on it, and drawing out his clasp knife, knelt down and deliberately stabbed it. Still it went on, untiringly, ceaselessly, significantly, hack, hack, hack. Pelamon was still on the floor cutting, stabbing, blaspheming, when a taxi suddenly drew up outside the house, and the next moment the front-door bell gave a loud birr. Pelamon waited till it had rung twice; then he answered it. A chauffeur stood on the doorstep.
“You’ve come to the wrong house,” Pelamon said to him. “No taxi is wanted here.”
“This is No. —, ain’t it?” the man ejaculated.
“Yes,” Pelamon replied. “It is No. —, but that doesn’t simplify matters. Who sent for you?”
“A gentleman as lives on t’other side of the town,” the chauffeur replied. “He called out to me as I was passing his house. ‘Do you want a job?’ he says. ‘Will you drive to No. — Regency Square and fetch a lady and gentleman? You’ll find them there waiting for you. The gent’s name is Harrison’ (Pellijohn Harrison, I think he said, but I couldn’t quite catch it). ‘Never mind the lady’s. Bring ’em both here.’”
“That’s very extraordinary,” Pelamon exclaimed, “for that’s my name, without a doubt. But I don’t know who the gentleman could have been, and there’s no lady here.”
“Maybe there ain’t no lady in the house now,” the chauffeur said dryly, “because she’s just got in the taxi. But she was there a second or two ago. You do like your bit of fun, don’t yer?”
Pelamon, in a great state of bewilderment, was about to say something, when from the direction of the taxi came the cough, hack, hack, hack. He knew it too well.
“There you are,” the chauffeur said, with a leer. “You must admit she’s in there right enough, and waiting till you’re ready to join her.”
Possessed with the feeling that he must see the thing through, Pelamon hesitated no longer. He got into the taxi. The coughing went on, but he could see no lady.