“I’ve just driven him here, sir.”

“Is he up to a hard day’s work?”

“The best tit in London, sir.”

“Pull him up to the pavement.”

The man obeyed.  Instantly his three predecessors on the rank began a chorus: 

“’Ere!  Wot th’—­”

“All right, Jimmy.  Wait till—­”

“Well, I’m—­”

“What is the matter?” inquired Brett, “You fellows always squeal before you are hurt.  Here is a fare each for you,” and he solemnly gave them a shilling a-piece.

Even then they were not satisfied.  They all objurgated Jimmy for his luck as he drove off.

It was an easy matter to find the constable who had been on point duty at the crossing when the “accident” happened.  This man produced his note-book containing the number of the Road Car Company’s Camden Town and Victoria ’bus, the driver of which had so cleverly avoided a catastrophe.  The policeman knew nothing of events prior to the falling of the horse.  There was the usual crowd of hurrying people; the scream of a startled woman; a rush of sightseers; and the rescue of Frazer from beneath the prostrate animal.

“Did you chance to notice the destination of the omnibus immediately preceding the Road Car vehicle?” said Brett.

“Yes, sir.  It was an Atlas.”

“Have you noted the exact time the accident occurred?”

“Here it is, sir—­10.45 a.m.”

At Victoria he was lucky in hitting upon the Camden Town ’bus itself, drawn up outside the District Railway Station, waiting its turn to enter the enclosure.

The driver was a sharp fellow, and disinclined to answer questions.  Brett might be an emissary of the enemy.  But a handsome tip and the assurance that a very substantial present would be forwarded to his address by the friends of the gentleman whose life he saved unloosed his tongue.

“I never did see anything like it, sir,” he confided.  “The road was quite clear, an’ I was bowlin’ along to get the inside berth from a General just behind, when this yer gent was chucked under the ‘osses’ ’eds.  Bli-me, I would ha’ thort ’e was a suicide if I ’adn’t seed a bloke shove ’im orf the kerb.”

“Oh, you saw that, did you?”

“Couldn’t ‘elp it, sir.  I was lookin’ aht for fares.  Jack, my mate, sawr it too.”

The conductor thus appealed to confirmed the statement.  They both described the assailant as very like his would-be victim in size, appearance, and garments.

Jack said he could do nothing, because the sudden swerving of the ’bus, the fall of the horse, and the instant gathering of a crowd, prevented him from making the attempt to grab the other man, who vanished, he believed, down Whitehall.

“You did not tell the police about the assault?” inquired Brett.

“Not me, guv’nor,” said the driver.  “The poor chap in the road was not much ’urt.  I knew that, though the mob thort ’e was a dead ‘un.  An’ wot does it mean?  A day lost in the polis-court, an’ a day lost on my pay-sheet, too.”