“Possibly,” replied Mr Bunker, without any great enthusiasm.
“But surely.”
“After a dance it is rather unlikely.”
“Ze Lady Hilton did say she vent to ze Park.”
“To-day, Baron?”
“I do not remember to-day. I did dance so hard I was not perhaps distinct. But I shall go and see.”
As Mr Bunker’s attempts to throw cold water on this scheme proved quite futile, he made a graceful virtue of necessity, dressed himself with care, and set out in the afternoon for the Park. They had only walked as far as Piccadilly Circus when in the crowd at the corner his eye fell upon a familiar figure. It was the burly, red-faced man.
“The devil! Moggridge again!” he muttered.
For a moment he thought they were going to pass unobserved: then the man turned his head their way, and Mr Bunker saw him start. He never looked over his shoulder, but after walking a little farther he called the Baron’s attention to a shop window, and they stopped to look at it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Moggridge about twenty yards behind them stopping too. He was glancing towards them very doubtfully. Evidently his mind was not yet made up, and at once Mr Bunker’s fertile brain began to revolve plans.
A little farther on they paused before another window, and exactly the same thing happened. Then Mr Bunker [pg 109] made up his mind. He looked carefully at the cabs, and at last observed a smart-looking young man driving a fresh likely horse at a walking pace beside the pavement.