"At your service."
"I'm a bit late, but it couldn't be helped. We'll not be long in getting there."
"Time does not matter to the great Pandu Singe," replied Nick, as he followed Chick into the open landau. "The night is still long."
"It'll be infernally long for you two meddlers," Dalton grimly said to himself, as he banged the carriage door and mounted to the box.
Then they rolled rapidly away toward a northern suburb of the city.
The dusk of evening was already deepening to darkness, a gloom more noticeable far up in the heavens than among the myriad of lights in the city streets. For not a star was visible in the murky sky, and away in the west huge banks of inky clouds were sweeping up toward the zenith, indicating the rapid approach of a sudden storm.
"Do you think it is going to rain, driver?" called Nick, from the rear seat of the carriage.
"Not soon," Dalton turned to answer; and then he added with grim significance, which he did not dream would be appreciated: "Whether it rains or not, you'll be brought back home in a closed carriage."
"It's my private opinion that the boot will be on the other leg," thought Nick, smiling faintly at the scoundrel's grim levity.
For Dalton had implied that Nick would be brought back in a hearse.