Cabby seemed to think this was a question that required a good deal of consideration before answering.
"Well, it might ha' bin a man's voice," he replied, speaking slowly. "Similarly it might not. It was a trifle hoarse for a woman, but I put that down to fright."
"You wouldn't swear in a court of law that it was a man's voice?"
"No, I wouldn't, governor. I'm pretty certain it was a woman."
No more was to be learned from the cabman, so, thanking him for his information, I quitted the tavern. As I entered the hansom, the driver exclaimed with a grin:
"Given you the slip, sir? Reckon she's a cough-drop, and no blooming kid!"
I turned a withering frown on this vulgar familiarity.
"Drive to Belgrave Square," I exclaimed loftily, "and look sharp."
I flung myself back in the cab in a fever-heat. "The affair is growing exciting," I muttered. "Was it a man or a woman? If a woman—who? If a man—was it George? if not—who? Did George travel by the other line, I wonder, and will he come this morning to claim his bride, or will he not? Will the veiled lady turn up in my uncle's drawing-room or at the altar-rails, and create some melodramatic scene? Patience—patience! we shall see. Daphne, you may yet be mine."