Whereupon Major White took his departure, to appear again the next day in good time, placid and debonair—as he had appeared when called upon in various parts of the world, where things were stirring.
They took a hansom, for the afternoon was showery, and drove through the crowded streets. Even Cambridge Terrace, usually a quiet thoroughfare, was astir with traffic, for it was the height of the season and a levee day. As the cab swung round into Cambridge Terrace, White suddenly pushed his stick up through the trap-door in the roof of the vehicle.
“Ninety-nine,” he shouted to the driver in his great voice. “Not nine.”
Then he threw himself back against the dingy blue cushions.
Cornish turned and looked at him in surprise. “Gone off your head?” he inquired. “It is nine—you know that well enough.”
“Yes,” answered White, “I know that, my good soul; but you could not see the door as I could when we came round the corner. Roden and Von Holzen are on the steps, coming out.”
“Roden and Von Holzen in England?”
“Not only in England,” said White, placidly, “but in Cambridge Terrace. And “—he paused, seeking a suitable remark among his small selection of conversational remnants—“and the fat is in the fire.”
The cab had now stopped at the door of number ninety-nine. And if Roden or Von Holzen, walking leisurely down Cambridge Terrace, had turned during the next few moments, they would have seen a stationary hansom cab, with a large round face—mildly surprised, like a pink harvest moon—rising cautiously over the roof of it, watching them.
When the coast was clear, Cornish and White walked back to number nine. Lord Ferriby was at home, and they were ushered into his study, an apartment which, like many other things appertaining to his lordship, was calculated to convey an erroneous impression. There were books upon the tables—the lives of great and good men. Pamphlets relating to charitable matters, missionary matters, and a thousand schemes for the amelioration of the human lot here and hereafter, lay about in profusion. This was obviously the den of a great philanthropist.