Before Philip moved out to take his place behind the little procession, Falconer, after a moment’s thought, walked rapidly past to his coach, and giving the driver and footman brief orders, stepped into it.  ’Twas now time for both Phil and me to be in motion, and we went down the way together.  The chair passed the coach, which immediately fell in behind it, the horses proceeding at a walk.

“He intends to follow her,” said I.

“Then we shall follow both,” said Phil, “and await events.  ’Tis no use forcing a scene in this neighbourhood.”

So Philip’s quest and mine lay together, and we proceeded along the footway, a little to the rear of the coach, which in turn was a little to the rear of the chair.  Passing the side of Drury Lane Theatre, the procession soon turned into Bow Street, and leaving Covent Garden Theatre behind, presently resumed a Southwestward course, deflecting at St. Martin’s Lane so as to come at last into Gerrard Street, and turning thence Northward into Dean Street.  Here the maid led the chair-men along the West side of the way; but Philip and I kept the East side.  At last the girl stopped before a door with a pillared porch, and the carriers set down the chair.

Instantly Captain Falconer’s footman leaped from the box of the coach, and, while the maid was at the chair door to help her mistress, dashed into the porch and stood so as to prevent any one’s reaching the door of the house.  The captain himself, springing out of the coach, was at Madge’s side as soon as she had emerged from the chair.  Philip and I, gliding unseen across the street, saw him hand something to the front chair-man which made that rascal open his mouth in astonishnent—­’twas, no doubt, a gold piece or two—­and heard him say: 

“You and your fellow, begone, and divide that among you.  Quick!  Vanish!”

The men obeyed with alacrity, bearing their empty chair past Phil and me toward Gerrard Street at a run.  The captain, by similar means, sent the boy with the light scampering off in the opposite direction.  Meanwhile, Philip and I having stopped behind a pillar of the next porch for a moment’s consultation, Madge was bidding the footman stand aside from before her door.  This we could see by the rays of a street lamp, which were at that place sufficient to make a carried light not absolutely necessary.

“Come into the coach, madam,” said Falconer, seizing one of her hands.  “You remember my promise.  I swear I shall keep it though I hang for it!  Don’t make a disturbance and compel me to use force, I beg.  You see, the street is deserted.”

“You scoundrel!” she answered.  “If you really think you can carry me off, you’re much—­”

“Nay,” he broke in, “actresses are carried off, and not always for the sake of being talked about, neither!  Fetch the maid, Richard—­I wouldn’t deprive a lady of her proper attendance.  Pray pardon this—­you put me to it, madam!”