“I’ve got a flat,” she panted.  “That is, I’ve got it if we’re quick enough.  Hi, taxi!”

“But, my dear,” I remonstrated as the taxi-driver, cowed by the look in her eye, drew up to the kerb, “if we take a taxi we shan’t have anything left to pay for the flat.”

“Victory Mansions, Trebarwith Road.  Drive fast!” shouted Betty as she pushed me into the cab.

“Now you’ve done it,” I said bitterly.  “Do you know I’ve only five pounds ten on me at the moment?  We shall lose the flat while we’re quarrelling with the driver.”

“Oh, dear,” cried Betty, “can’t you see that this is serious?  It was a wonderful piece of luck.  I was passing the mansions and I happened to look up just as someone was sticking up a notice, ‘Flat to Let,’ in one of the windows.  There was a beast of a man on the other side of the street and he simply leapt across the road.  I slipped, or I should have beaten him.  As it was he got to the door a yard ahead of me.  We looked over the flat together, but of course he was first, and he said he was sure it would suit him, only he must ask his wife.  It was awful!  I felt as if I must kill him.”

“So you followed him out and pushed him down the lift-shaft?  My dear brave girl!”

“No, but I heard him say he could be back in half-an-hour.  I knew I could do it in twenty-five minutes.  Look!” Betty crushed my hand as in a vice.  “There he is.”

As we took a corner on two wheels I looked out and saw a man running.  “Taxi!” he shouted in the hoarse voice of despair.  Our driver sat like a graven image and we swept on in triumph.

“Oh!” cried Betty suddenly, “suppose that, after all, somebody else——­” She choked on a sob.

“Courage, dear heart,” I said.  “All is not yet lost.”

A moment later we had reached Victory Mansions and made a dash for the flat.

“Are we in time?” asked Betty as the door was opened.

“I think so, Ma’am,” said the smiling maid and ushered us into the presence of the out-going tenant.  A tour of the rooms at express speed showed the flat to be a desirable one enough.  There were three years to run and the rent was not extortionate—­for the times.

“I’ll sign the agreement now,” said I.

“Half-a-minute,” said the out-going tenant as he produced the documents; “I’ll get a pen and ink.”

The whirr of an electric bell resounded through the flat.

“Quick!” panted Betty.  “Your fountain pen.”  I produced it and wrote my name with a hand trembling with eagerness.

“A gentleman about the flat, Sir,” said the maid, and, haggard, pale and exhausted, our defeated rival staggered into the room.

He looked at us with a dumb agony in his eyes, and neither of us two men had the courage to deal the fatal blow.  It was Betty who spoke.

“I’m sorry, but we’ve just taken this flat,” she said sweetly, and added with true feminine cruelty, “I saw it first, you know.”