torpedoes.  Then I knew as in all probability I’d carried the man who managed the business, and I gave word to the police, but they never could make anything of it.  You know what a coal torpedo is, don’t you?  Well, you see, a cove insures his ship for more than its value, and then off he goes and makes a box like a bit o’coal, and fills it chock full with dynamite, or some other cowardly stuff of the sort.  He drops this box among the other coals on the quay when the vessel is filling her bunkers, and then in course of time box is shoveled on to the furnaces, when of course the whole ship is blown sky high.  They say there’s many a good ship gone to the bottom like that.”

“You’ve certainly had some queer experiences,” I said.

“Why bless you!” remarked the driver, “I’ve hardly got fairly started yet, and here we are at the ‘Alexandry.’  I could tell you many another story as strange as these—­and true, mind ye, true as Gospel.  If ever your missus looks in need of a breath of fresh air you send round for me—­Copper Street, number ninety-four—­and I’ll give her a turn into the country, and if you’ll come up beside me on the box, I’ll tell you a good deal that may surprise you.  But there’s your little lad a hollering to you like mad, and the wife wants to get out, and the other one’s a tapping at the window with a parasol.  Take care how you get down, sir!  That’s right!  Don’t forget number ninety-four!  Good-day missus!  Good-day, sir!” And the growler rumbled heavily away until I lost sight both of it and of its communicative driver among the crowd of holiday-makers who thronged the road which led to the Palace.