“Yes, quick. West—”
“All right, sir—I know,” cried the man, and away went the cab.
“Driven me before,” thought Huish, as he sank back in the cab. “Poor little darling! how she has been upset!”
He lit a cigar and smoked it, to settle his nerves as he termed it, and then his thoughts turned to the affairs of the past night.
“And suppose I had not been able to bring all those witnesses to prove my innocence,” he thought. “How horrible!”
He moved about uneasily in his seat, for he was not satisfied. This was, after all, but another link in the strange chain of circumstances that had troubled him, and he shuddered and threw away his cigar, for his nerves refused to be settled. Somehow, a strange uneasy feeling kept increasing upon him, and at last he raised the little trap and shouted to the man to go faster.
“Suppose she is ill!” he muttered. “Poor darling! what she must have suffered!”
At last the cab was pulled up at the door, and Huish leaped out and ran up the steps without paying the man, who waited, while, not finding his latch-key, he rang sharply, and the cook answered the door.
“Where is your mistress?” he said sharply.
“Missus, sir? I haven’t seen her since last night.”