They had a fine drive up Queen Victoria Street before they plunged into the whirlpool of traffic at the Bank. They were slowly making their way across when the [pg 111] driver, spying an opening in another stream, abruptly wheeled round for Cornhill, and presently they were off again at top speed.
“Thrown them off?” asked Mr Bunker.
“Tried to, sir, but they were too sharp and got clear away too.”
Mr Bunker saw that it was going to be a stern chase, and laughed again. In order that he might not show ostensibly that he was running away, he resisted the temptation of having another peep through the back, and resigned himself to the chances of the chase.
Through and through the lanes and byways of the city they drove, and after each double the answer from the box was always the same. The cab behind could not be shaken off.
“Work your way round to Holborn and try a run west,” Mr Bunker suggested.
So after a little they struck Newgate Street, and presently their steed stretched himself again in Holborn Viaduct.
“Gaining now, cabby?”
“A little, sir, I think.”
Mr Bunker sat placidly till they were well along Holborn before he inquired again.