"I like Joe," said Nancy, as they slid out into the glare and tumult of Piccadilly Circus. "Is that his profession—standing there all night looking after cars?"
"That's his present profession," replied Colin, "but he's what you might call come down in the world. Before he took to drink he used to be one of the best middle-weight boxers in England."
Nancy opened her blue eyes to their fullest extent.
"A prize-fighter?" she exclaimed.
Colin nodded. "Joe Bates of Wapping. One of the gamest men who ever stepped into a ring."
"What made him take to drink?" inquired Nancy.
"I think it was chiefly the death of his wife," said Colin. "Anyhow, he went all to pieces about two years ago, and ended up by getting run over in the Fulham Road. They brought him along to St. Christopher's, where we managed to patch him up. I felt sorry for the poor chap, and when he came out I got him that job at the Motor Club. As people go, I think he's by way of being rather grateful."
He swung clear of the traffic outside the Ritz, and with a warning bark from the horn the little car leaped forward down the long, brilliantly lit slope.
Turning up her coat collar with one hand, Nancy settled herself contentedly in her seat.
"It's been a most exciting evening," she said. "I've enjoyed every single minute of it."