It was only one more of the many mysteries which surrounded Miss Davison like a network, and Gerard stared helplessly at her in the darkness which was now complete but for the light of the gas-lamps, which were not near enough to cast a light upon her face, the cab having stopped not exactly opposite to the police-station, but a few steps farther down the street.
When the man stepped back from the cab, raising his hat in farewell, Miss Davison’s face advanced a little into the light, and Gerard was at last able to see her plainly. She looked haggard, fatigued, and excited, and it was plain that she had just been through another harrowing experience.
Suddenly her expression changed to one of alarm, and he saw that she had recognized him.
Putting her head out of the window, she called to the driver, who had just started his horse, to stop, and beckoning imperiously to Gerard, waited at the cab-window for him to come up.
As he did so, he looked round for the other man, anxious to get a good look at him; but, in the moment when Gerard had been occupied with Miss Davison, the well-dressed man who never showed his face had disappeared.
Gerard came slowly to the cab-window, raised his hat in sullen silence, and waited for her to speak.
For a moment she appeared not to know what to say to him. Then, in a ferocious undertone, she said—
“You’ve been playing the spy!”
“Well, what if I have?”
She looked at him for a few moments, panting and angry, before she answered—