As he flung himself into the vehicle he seriously feared he was on the point of breaking a blood vessel, never had he been at such extremity of breath.  But his eyes clung to the brougham in dread lest he should lose sight of it, or confuse it with another.  The driver whipped his horse.  Thank goodness, the carriage remained well in sight.  But if there should come a block!  A perilous point was Piccadilly Circus.  Never, it seemed to him, had the streets of London roared with such a tumult of traffic.  Right!  The Circus was passed; now Piccadilly with its blessed quietness.  What a speed they kept!  Hyde Park Corner, Knightsbridge, and—­what road was that?  Christopher’s geography failed him; he pretended to no familiarity with the West End.  On swept his hansom in what he felt to be a most impudent pursuit; nay, for all he knew, it might subject him to the suspicion of the police.  The cabby need not follow so close; why, the horse’s nose all but touched the brougham now and then.  How much farther?  How was he to get back?  He could not possibly reach home till one in the morning.

The brougham made a sharp curve, the hansom followed.  Then came a sudden stop.

CHAPTER XV

THE NAME OF GILDERSLEEVE

A square—­imposing houses about a space of verdure.  That was what Christopher perceived as he looked wildly round, flung back the apron, jumped out.  His position was awful; voices of the persons alighting from the brougham seemed to sound at his very ear; he had become one of the party; the man in evening dress stared at him.  But even in this dread moment so bent was he on fulfilling his mission that he at once cast an eye over the front of the house to fix it in his memory.  There was a magnificent display of flowers at every window; the houses immediately right and left had no flowers at all.

Then he fumbled for money.  Coppers, a sixpence, a shilling, no other small change, and he durst not offer so little as eighteenpence.  (However, Heaven be thanked! the people had gone in and the brougham was moving away.) In his purse he had half a sovereign.

“Got change?” he inquired as boldly as possible.

“How much?” returned the driver curtly, for he had noticed with curiosity that his fare exchanged no greeting with the carriage people and that the door was shut.

“Change for half a sovereign.  Seven shillings would do.”

“Ain’t got it.  See, fourpence in ’apence, that’s all.”

The man’s eye began to alarm Christopher.  He shook with indecision, he gulped down his bitterness, he handed the golden coin.

“All right; never mind change.”

“Thanky, sir.  Good night.”

And Mr. Parish was alone on the pavement.  So grievously did he feel for the loss of that half-sovereign that for some moments he could think of nothing else.  His heart burned against Polly.  What had she got to do with those people in the big house?  How could he be sure that it did not imply some shameful secret?  And he must go throwing away his hard-earned money!  Gladly he would have spent it on a supper for Polly; but to pay ten shillings for a half-crown drive!  A whole blessed half-sovereign!