"The Albany, Piccadilly end," said Mr. Dashwood to the driver, and they started.
Before they had well cleared the precincts of the station Miss Hitchen was alive to the fact that Mr. Giveen was "making eyes at her"—ogling her. Mr. Dashwood noted the same fact, and with his elbow touched his companion's arm as if to implore her patience. To have stopped the taxicab and kicked Mr. Giveen out of it would have been apples of gold in pictures of silver to Mr. Dashwood, but he controlled himself, contemplating French's possible salvation as a Buddhist controls himself by contemplating Nirvana.
At the Piccadilly end of the Albany the taxicab drew up, and Miss Hitchen, who was on the kerb side, alighted hurriedly. She stood on the pavement waiting, while Mr. Dashwood paid the driver off, and then the three entered the Albany. Mr. Dashwood's rooms were situated half-way up, on the right-hand side, and at the entrance of them he stopped and turned to Mr. Giveen.
"Will you come in and wait for me a few minutes? Miss Hitchen will excuse me if I run in for a moment with you to show you the way. You can sit and wait for me a few minutes while I see Miss Hitchen into a cab. Come, this is the way."
Mr. Giveen held out his hand to the girl. "It's sorry I am to have seen so little of you," said Mr. Giveen, "but, sure, if we have any luck, we may meet again."
"Yes, I suppose so," replied Miss Hitchen, releasing her hand. "Good evening."
She waited.
In less than a minute and a half Mr. Dashwood reappeared.
"Bobby," said Miss Hitchen, as she turned with him to the Vigo Street entrance, "I have forgiven you many things, but that Thing is too much to be forgiven without a very complete explanation. Do you know that it put its toe on my foot in the cab?"
"Beast!" said Mr. Dashwood. "Can you imagine my fix, tied to it? I feel as if I were going to burst. Now, look here. Here's my situation in a nutshell. I know a man called French, the nicest fellow in the world. He's almost broken; but he has one thing left—a racehorse. The horse is almost sure to win the City and Suburban, and if he does French will make a fortune. Well, French is training the horse down at Crowsnest, in Sussex. French owes a moneylender named Lewis a lot of money, and Lewis doesn't know where French is. If he knew it, he would send down a man to-morrow and collar the horse. Do you see?"