“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” sighed Bertha hysterically. “Tell the man to drive fast! But where is he going? This is Oxford Street—not the way to Church Hill. I tell you he has made a mistake! Stop!” And Bertha tried to lift the little door in the roof of the cab above her head.
“That’s all right,” said her companion; “we’ll be there in a few minutes. The Professor was at a friend’s house up at Darlinghurst.”
For the time Bertha’s suspicions, now aroused, were silenced, but soon the horse, who was travelling at great speed, arrived at Darlinghurst, and without turning off the main road, continued his course to Paddington.
“We have passed Darlinghurst. You are deceiving me! Stop the cab, or I will cry out!”
“It’s all right, I tell you! Just keep quiet for a few minutes.”
But Bertha, fairly alarmed, and noting some passers-by at hand, stood up in the cab and sang out—
“Help! Help! He—”
The third cry was stifled, for a silk muffler was placed round her head, an odour, strange and unfamiliar, gradually stupefied her senses, and caused her to sink unresistingly on the cushions of the vehicle. The passers-by, alarmed by the cry, had paused a minute, but hearing nothing more, and the cab speeding on, had resumed their walk.
A policeman standing apathetically at a street corner was startled into activity by the furious approach of the hansom. It was clearly a case for a summons, so he rushed into the roadway waving his arms, and cried—
“Stop! Stop!”