"Excuse?"
"Yes; it was really your neck that did it."
By this time they were in a cab, rattling into Gray's Inn Road.
"They are a poor lot," said Andrew fiercely, "if they couldn't keep their heads over my neck."
"They are only human," retorted the president. "For Heaven's sake, pull up the collar of your coat."
His fingers were itching, but Andrew did not notice it.
"Where are we going?" he asked.
"To King's Cross. The midnight express leaves in twenty minutes. It is your last chance."
Andrew was in a daze. When the president had taken his ticket for Glasgow he was still groping.
The railway officials probably thought him on his honeymoon.