"It's very kind of you," I said, with a smile, "but, as a matter of fact, I have just finished dinner."
He waved aside the objection. "Well, well, a bottle of wine, then. After all, one doesn't meet one's double every day."
There was a four-wheeler trundling slowly up the Embankment, and without waiting for any further reply from me, he raised his hand and beckoned to the driver.
As the man drew up, a tattered figure that had been lounging on one of the seats a little farther down shambled hastily forward as though to open the door. My eyes happened to be on Northcote at the moment, and I was amazed at the sudden change that came over him. He looked like a man in the presence of some imminent danger. Like a flash, his right hand travelled to his side pocket with a gesture that it was impossible to misunderstand.
"Stand back," he said harshly.
The loafer, astonished at his tone, stopped abruptly in the circle of white light cast by the electric lamp.
"Beg pardon, guv'nor," he whined; "on'y goin' to open the door for yer, guv'nor."
Northcote's cold blue eyes scrutinised him keenly for a moment. "That's all right, my man," he said, in a rather different voice. "Here you are!"
He flung a silver coin—a half-crown it looked like—on to the pavement, and with a gasp of amazement the man dived to pick it up. As he did so, Northcote, still watching him, stepped forward to the cab and flung open the door.
"You get in, Mr. Burton, will you?" he said; and then, as I climbed into the cab, he turned to the driver. "The Milan," he said curtly, and then, following me, slammed the door.