Three in a hansom cab is not, under all circumstances, the most comfortable method of conveyance,—­when one of the trio happens to be Sydney Atherton in one of his ‘moments of excitement’ it is distinctly the opposite; as, on that occasion, Mr Lessingham and I both quickly found.  Sometimes he sat on my knees, sometimes on Lessingham’s, and frequently, when he unexpectedly stood up, and all but precipitated himself on to the horse’s back, on nobody’s.  In the eagerness of his gesticulations, first he knocked off my hat, then he knocked off Lessingham’s, then his own, then all three together,—­once, his own hat rolling into the mud, he sprang into the road, without previously going through the empty form of advising the driver of his intention, to pick it up.  When he turned to speak to Lessingham, he thrust his elbow into my eye; and when he turned to speak to me, he thrust it into Lessingham’s.  Never, for one solitary instant, was he at rest, or either of us at ease.  The wonder is that the gymnastics in which he incessantly indulged did not sufficiently attract public notice to induce a policeman to put at least a momentary period to our progress.  Had speed not been of primary importance I should have insisted on the transference of the expedition to the somewhat wider limits of a four-wheeler.

His elucidation of the causes of his agitation was apparently more comprehensible to Lessingham than it was to me.  I had to piece this and that together under considerable difficulties.  By degrees I did arrive at something like a clear notion of what had actually taken place.

He commenced by addressing Lessingham,—­and thrusting his elbow into my eye.

‘Did Marjorie tell you about the fellow she found in the street?’ Up went his arm to force the trap-door open overhead,—­and off went my hat.  ’Now then, William Henry!—­let her go!—­if you kill the horse I’ll buy you another!’

We were already going much faster than, legally, we ought to have done,—­but that, seemingly to him was not a matter of the slightest consequence.  Lessingham replied to his inquiry.

‘She did not.’

’You know the fellow I saw coming out of your drawing-room window?’

‘Yes.’

’Well, Marjorie found him the morning after in front of her breakfast-room window—­in the middle of the street.  Seems he had been wandering about all night, unclothed,—­in the rain and the mud, and all the rest of it,—­in a condition of hypnotic trance.’

‘Who is the——­gentleman you are alluding to?’

‘Says his name’s Holt, Robert Holt.’

‘Holt?—­Is he an Englishman?’

’Very much so,—­City quill-driver out of a shop,—­stony broke absolutely!  Got the chuck from the casual ward,—­wouldn’t let him in,—­house full, and that sort of thing,—­poor devil!  Pretty passes you politicians bring men to!’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Of what?’

’Are you sure that this man, Robert Holt, is the same person whom, as you put it, you saw coming out of my drawing-room window?’