“Like what?”
“Half-drowned like. She had on a black skirt that seemed soaking wet through, and covered with mud. She looked in an awful plight, and yet her face was merry and smiling. She took another cab as soon as she parted from you, and drove after us across the Albert Bridge, and then down Oakley Street. There she stopped the cab to speak to some one.”
“Who was it?” I asked eagerly.
“A woman. But I couldn’t see distinctly. They were too far away, and turned down Cheyne Walk, so I didn’t see ’em any more.”
“You say that her clothes were very dirty?”
“Yes, worse than yours, and, great Scott! sir, they’re bad enough. You’ll want to send ’em to the cleaners when you get ’ome.”
What the man said was perfectly true. The slime of the river emitted a sickening stench, but it fortunately served to conceal one thing, namely, the blood-stains upon my coat.
I laughed at this remark of his, but I had no intention to enter upon explanations.
“From her appearance did my companion lead you to believe that she was a lady?”
“Oh yes, sir. By her manner you’d tell her as a lady among ten thousand.”