“All right, all right,” said the man hurriedly. “I don’t want a scandal for the lady’s sake.” He turned to the taxi man. “How much do you want?”
“With the damage it’ll be a matter of ten pound.”
The swarthy man in evening dress fished out his note-case.
“Here you are, you blackmailing thief.”
“None of your back-chat, or I’ll finish off what this gentleman has begun,” said the taxi man, pocketing the money.
Until he saw summary justice accomplished, Triona stood in the lee of the houses, his arm stretched protectingly in front of Olivia. Then he drew her away.
“I’ll see the lady home. It’s only a few steps.”
“Right, sir. Good night, sir,” said the taxi man.
They moved on. Immediately in the silence of the night came the crisp exchange of words.
“I’ll give you a pound to take me to Porchester Terrace.”