Turning to his own car, he observed with a momentary astonishment that Carthew, the chauffeur, leaning a little nonchalantly through the open off-window of the vehicle, was engaged in conversation with Miss Winstock.  The astonishment passed when he reflected that as these two had been in the enforced intimacy of an accident together they were necessarily on some kind of speaking terms.  Before Carthew had noticed Mr. Prohack, Mr. Prohack noticed that Carthew’s attitude to Miss Winstock showed a certain tolerant condescension, while Miss Winstock’s girlish gestures were of a subtly appealing nature.  Then in an instant Carthew, the easy male tolerator of inaccurate but charming young women, disappeared from the window—­disappeared indeed, entirely from the face of the earth—­and a perfectly non-human, impassive automaton emerged from behind the back of the car and stood attentive at the door, holding the handle thereof.  Mr. Prohack, with a gift of dissimulation equal to Carthew’s own, gave him an address in Bond Street.

“I have another very urgent appointment,” said Mr. Prohack to Miss Winstock as he sat down beside her.  And he took his diary from his pocket and gazed at it intently, frowning, though there was nothing whatever on its page except the printed information that the previous Sunday was the twenty-fourth after Trinity, and a warning:  “If you have omitted to order your new diary it would be well to do so NOW to prevent disappointment.”

“It’s awfully good of you to have me here,” said Miss Winstock.

“It is,” Mr. Prohack admitted.  “And so far as I can see you’ve done nothing to deserve it.  You were very wrong to get chatting with my chauffeur, for example.”

“I felt that all the time.  But he has such a powerful individuality.”

“He may have.  But what I pay him for is to drive my car, not to put his passengers into a semi-hypnotic state.  Do you know why I am taking you about like this?”

“I hope it’s because you are kind-hearted.”

“Not at all.  Do you think I should do it if you were fifty, fat and a fright?  Of course I shouldn’t.  And no one knows that better than you.  I’m doing it because you’re young and charming and slim and attractive and smart.  Though forty-six, I am still a man.  The chief difference between me and most other men is that I know and openly admit my motives.  That’s what makes me so dangerous.  You should beware of me.  Take note that I haven’t asked you what you’re been saying to Carthew.  Nor shall I ask him.  Now what exactly do you want me to do?”

“Only not to let the law case about the accident go any further.”

“And are you in a position to pay the insurance company for the damage to my car?”

“Oh!  Mr. Carrel Quire will pay.”