“What about it, Fitch?”

“Well, sir, I’m just opposite the gate, but it’s rather awkward to slip across, in case I meet somethin’.  If I ’as to pull up ’alf-way, we might be run into.”

“Which means that one of us must guide you over?”

“It’d be safer, sir.”

By a majority of three it was decided that Berry should enact the role of conducting officer.  Jonah had a cold, and was sitting on the back seat between the girls.  I had no coat, and required the services of both hands if I was to hold my shawl in position.  Only my brother-in-law remained.  He did not go down without a struggle, but after a vigorous but vain appeal “to our better natures,” he compared himself to a lion beset by jackals, commented bitterly upon “the hot air which is breathed about self-sacrifice,” and, directing that after death his veins should be opened in the presence of not less than twelve surgeons, as a preliminary to his interment in the Dogs’ Cemetery, opened the door and stepped sideways into the roadway.

His efforts to remove the offside oil lamp, which was hot to the touch, were most diverting, and twice he returned to the window to ask us to make less noise.  At last, however, with the assistance of Fitch, the lamp was unhooked, and a moment later our absurd link-boy advanced cautiously in the direction of the gate.

Fitch let in the clutch.

We must have been half-way across, when a lamp of extraordinary power came gliding up on the near side, confusing all eyes and altogether effacing our guiding light.

Fitch applied his brakes and cried out a warning.  Instantly the lamp stopped, but its glare was blinding and our chauffeur was clearly afraid to move.

In a flash I was out of the car and holding my shawl over the face of the offender.  At once Fitch took the car forward.  As I fell in behind, I heard Berry’s voice.

“Thank you.  I hope I didn’t jostle your ’bus.  Yes, I am completely and utterly lost.  No, I don’t mind at all.  I’m going to bale out the drinking-trough and sleep there.  And in the morning they’ll take me to the Foundling Hospital.  Hullo.  That’s done it.  Blind me first and then run me down.  What are you?  A travelling lighthouse or an air-raid?  Want to get to Cannon Street?  Well, I should go round by sea, if I were you....  Well, if you must know, I’m Mary Pickford about to be trodden to death in Maelstrom or Safety Last.  You know, you’re not racing your engine enough.  I can still hear myself think....”

His voice grew fainter and stopped.

Vigorously I shouted his name.  A cold draught, and we swept into the Park.  Fitch pulled up on the left-hand side.

“Berry, Berry!” I shouted.

In the distance I could hear voices, but no one answered me....

In response to my sister’s exhortations I re-entered the car, and drew a rug over my shivering limbs.  The others put their heads out of the windows and shouted for Berry in unison.  There was no reply.