There was no response. The man peered down eagerly for a moment in surprise then cried aloud—
“By Jove! She’s fainted!”
Unloosing the strap which held him to his seat, he sprang down and entered the vehicle.
The young girl was lying back in the corner inert and helpless, her hat awry, her pointed chin upon her chest. He pressed his hand to her breast, but there was no movement of the heart. He touched her ungloved hand. It was chilly, and the fingers were already stiffening. Her large black eyes were still open, glaring wildly into space, but her face was blanched to the lips.
“Good heavens!” the cabman cried, stupefied, as in turning he saw a policeman standing on the kerb. “Quick, constable!” he shouted, beckoning the officer. “Quick! Look here!”
“Well, what’s the matter now?” the other inquired, approaching leisurely, his thumbs hitched in his belt.
“The matter!” cried the cabman. “Why, this lady I drove from Charin’ Cross is dead?”