«And don't let anybody else get into it.»
«No.»
It was a raw, unpleasant night. A taxi deposited a load of people returning from the theatre at the block of flats next door, and Parker secured it for himself. He was just giving the address to the driver, when a man came hastily running up from a side street. He was in evening dress and an overcoat. He rushed up, signalling frantically.
«Sir — sir! — dear me! why, it's Mr. Parker! How fortunate! If you would be so kind — summoned from the club — a sick friend — can't find a taxi — everybody going home from the theatre — if I might share your cab — you are returning to Bloomsbury? I want Russell Square — if I might presume — a matter of life and death.»
He spoke in hurried gasps, as though he had been running violently and far. Parker promptly stepped out of the taxi.
«Delighted to be of service to you, Sir Julian,» he said; «take my taxi. I am going down to Craven Street myself, but I'm in no hurry. Pray make use of the cab.»
«It's extremely kind of you,» said the surgeon. «I am ashamed —»
«That's all right,» said Parker, cheerily. «I can wait.» He assisted Freke into the taxi. «What number? 24 Russell Square, driver, and look sharp.»
The taxi drove off. Parker remounted the stairs and rang Lord Peter's bell.
«Thanks, old man,» he said. «I'll stop the night, after all.»