One night, about eleven o'clock, as he was strolling along the Strand, he came upon a crowd of men and boys at the corner of a side street, congregated round a hansom cab and a couple of stalwart policemen. Burgo was not fond of street crowds, and was proceeding to push his way through the fringe of this one, when he heard one man say to another, "What's the bloomin' row?" "A cabby wot's fell off his box in a fit, and cut his 'ead open," replied the other. Then a third man joined in, apparently a stranger to the others: "It's one of old Hendry's 'ansoms," he said. "All that's wanted is for the cabby to get inside his own flycatcher, and let some cove drive him home."
Burgo shouldered his way through the crowd till he had reached the heart of it.
"What's the matter, Robert?" he inquired of one of the policemen, as he slipped a shilling into his hand.
The man carried a finger to his helmet, but could tell him no more than he knew already.
"You are sure his fall was not the result of drink?" queried Mr. Brabazon.
"Sure of that, sir. I and my mate both know the man. He's a very decent sort of fellow, and a teetotaler."
"Is he much hurt?"
"Oh, no, sir; nothing to speak of. A little bit dazed-like, as you may see for yourself, but nothing more. Still, it's hardly safe to let him get on the box; he might be took like it again before he got to the yard."
"Certainly. I see that this is one of my friend Mr. Hendry's cabs, so I tell you what you had better do. Put the man inside, and I will drive him home to the yard." And with that he handed the constable his card.
The police were only too glad to be thus relieved of a difficulty which was detaining them from their more regular duties. Accordingly the man was bundled inside, while Burgo mounted to the perch behind; then the crowd divided to let him through, while somebody called out for a cheer for the "toff," which was heartily responded to.