I was almost too frightened to say anything. I was trembling all over, for in a moment that dreadful hand might leap out of that dreadful pocket, and my fate would be sealed. But, happily, my imagination once more came to my aid.
“It is not a bad idea,” I replied; “but I think you could do better. Don’t be in a hurry—there are plenty of distinguished people about, but not at so late an hour as when you called on me last night. Come a little earlier to-night, say at ten o’clock, and we’ll see if we can’t find a Prince. I know them all by sight, and will point one out to you, a good one. Of course, if you can’t get anybody better, you can shoot me.”
“‘thank you,’ he said.”
“Thank you,” he said, and for the first time he drew his hand out of that horrible pocket of his, and grasped my own. “It is a good idea. To-night then it shall be, at ten o’clock. Good morning.”
I could hardly believe my senses when I saw the dreadful creature slowly making his way towards Cheapside. But, indeed, my senses were failing me. I turned giddy, and staggered against a lamp-post, where presently I was found by a wandering policeman.
I put my hand to my throat, for I felt choking.
“Stop him, stop him!” I cried. “He has got a revolver—he is a murderer—he——”
But the miserable constable took no notice of my warning. He only took me by the arm, and, turning his bull’s eye and a suspicious glance upon my countenance, said:
“Here, you had better go home quietly, sir. I suppose you have been dining out rather late. Hi, hansom!”