"HE SHOT THE BANK MANAGER BEFORE THE EYES OF HIS FIANCÉE."
It was about half-past one o'clock, on a bright and pleasant day, that a young lady was driving down Regent Street in a hansom which she had picked up outside her boarding-house near Portland Road Station. She had told the cabman to drive slowly, as she was nervous behind a horse; and so she had leisure to scan, with the curiosity of a stranger, the strolling crowd that at nearly all hours of the day throngs Regent Street. It was a sunny morning, and everybody looked cheerful. Ladies were shopping, or looking in at the shop windows. Men about town were collecting an appetite for lunch; flower girls were selling "nice vi'lets, sweet vi'lets, penny a bunch"; and the girl in the cab leaned one arm on the apron and regarded the scene with alert attention. She was not exactly pretty, for the symmetry of her features was discounted by a certain hardness in the set of the mouth. But her hair, so dark as to be almost black, and her eyes of greyish blue set her beyond comparison with the commonplace.
"THERE WAS A SLIGHT STIR OUTSIDE THE CAFÉ ROYAL."
Just outside the Café Royal there was a slight stir, and a temporary block in the foot traffic. A brougham was setting down, behind it was a victoria, and behind that a hansom; and as the girl glanced round the heads of the pair in the brougham, she saw several men standing on the steps. Leaning back suddenly, she opened the trapdoor in the roof.
"Stop here," she said, "I've changed my mind."
The driver drew up by the kerb, and the girl skipped out.
"You shan't lose by the change," she said, handing him half-a-crown.
There was a tinge of American accent in the voice; and the cabman, pocketing the half-crown with thanks, smiled.
"They may talk about that McKinley tariff," he soliloquised as he crawled along the kerb towards Piccadilly Circus, "but it's better 'n free trade—lumps!"