aid, trying to smile.

"So much the better," he retorted with an equal effort at
cheerfulness. "I'll come along as soon as I can."

"Where are you off to, dear?" she asked.

"I'll just go and have a talk to Tom," he replied.

"I'll come with you. I can wait in the cab. I don't suppose that
you'll be long."

He tried to protest, but obviously she had made up her mind. Perhaps
she did not like the idea of going back to the hotel alone. So he
hailed a passing cab and told the man to drive to Scotland Yard.

He had deliberately--and despite former prejudices--selected a
taxicab. He wanted to see Tom as soon as was possible.

Louisa leaned back in the corner of the vehicle silent and motionless.
Father and daughter did not exchange a single word whilst the cab
rattled through the crowded streets of London. Hansoms, omnibuses,
innumerable other taxis, rattled along the selfsame way, just as they
had always done before this, just as they would go on doing to the end
of time. People walked along, busy and indifferent. Many went past the
shrieking news vendors without even stopping to buy a paper.

Luke stood accused, almost self-convicted, of a horrible crime, and
there were thousands, nay millions, of people who didn't even care!

The taxicab flew past the railings of the Green Park, there where
another taxicab had drawn up a couple of evenings ago, and where a
snake-wood stick marked with tell-tale stains had been found clumsily
buried in the mud. Louisa peered out of the window of the cab. People
walked past that spot, indifferent and busy. Two girls were standing
close to the railings chatting and giggling.

And Luke to-morrow, or perhaps to-night, would be under
arrest--charged with murder--horrible, cruel, brutal murder--a vulgar,
cowardly crime! The snake-wood stick had told a tale which he had not
attempted to refute.

Presently the cab drew up and Colonel Harris jumped down.

"I won't be longer than I can help," he said. "Will you be all right?"

"Yes, father dear," she replied, "I'll be all right. Don't hurry."

She saw her father disappearing through the wide open door, above
which a globe of light shone yellow through the fog. She remained
huddled up in her furs, for she felt very cold. Her feet were like
ice, and the fog seemed to have penetrated to her very marrow. Few
people were to be seen in the narrow roadway, and only an occasional
cab rattled past.

From the embankment close by came the cry