She carried a rug and an extra coat: "You mustn't suggest hurry in any way; you must look as though you were going a long journey and didn't care who knew it." And he carried the suitcase and a golf-bag. There was to be no hole-and-corner business. This was bluff, and the bigger the bluff, the more chance there was of carrying it off. As they stepped into the foggy road, she said, "We'll go to Brixton High Street and get a bus or a taxi."
As it happened, it was a taxi that offered itself first. It swelled out of the dark before they had reached a main thoroughfare, and as the man heaved what they were carrying aboard the woman gave the address of their destination.
"Cost you something, lady," said the driver.
"Well, well," she said, "isn't every day my son has a holiday."
The driver grunted good-naturedly. "That's the stuff! Feast and famine. Nothing like it." And she climbed in, and the taxi ceased its agitated throbbing and slid into action.
After a silence the man said, "Well, you couldn't do more for me if I were."
"I'm glad you're nod" she said. There was another long silence.
"What is your name?" she asked suddenly.
He thought for a moment. "George Lowe," he said.
"Yes," she said; "but don't think next time. There is a train north to Inverness that leaves Waverly at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. You'll have to spend tomorrow night in Inverness. I have written down on a paper what you do after that."