"Cold!" I groaned. "Oh, Lord!"
"So it couldn't be that," he added.
"Well, if it isn't that," I said, "what the blazes is it? You don't seriously expect me to believe in black magic and Mumbo Jumbo and all that sort of bunkum, do you?"
Bruce scratched his ear.
"I don't know," he said unhappily.
We sat in silence as the cab ran on, each of us staring out of the window on our respective sides. It was not until we were halfway up Tottenham Court Road that I suddenly noticed the time. There was a big clock outside one of the furniture shops, and the hands were pointing to half-past two. I called Bruce's attention to the fact.
"Cynthia won't have finished her lunch yet," I said. "We had better get out at Piccadilly Circus and walk up. Or perhaps you'd rather go alone?"
"No," he answered eagerly; "I want you to come. You needn't stay, you know, but I'd like you just to come and see what happens."
"All right," I said, with a laugh. "I may as well see you through now I've begun. If Cynthia starts embracing you, I'll leave the room."
"Oh, don't joke about it!" said Bruce nervously.