And with this singular caution, Maynard made his adieus to the ex-Dictator of Hungary!
Chapter Sixty Six.
Two Cabs.
In London dark nights are the rule, not the exception. More especially in the month of November; when the fog rolls up from the muddy Thames, spreading its plague-like pall over the metropolis.
On just such a night a cab might have been seen issuing from the embouchure of South Bank, passing down Park Road, and turning abruptly into the Park, through the “Hanover Gate.”
So dense was the fog, it could only have been seen by one who chanced to be near it; and very near to know that it was a hansom.
The bull’s-eye burning overhead in front reflected inside just sufficient light to show that it carried only a single “fare,” of the masculine gender.
A more penetrating light would have made apparent a gentleman—so far as dress was concerned—sitting with something held in his hand that resembled a hunting-whip.