The Child Wife

“Ya,” was the laconic answer.

“Tell him to come to me.”

Gertrude drew back, perhaps wondering why she was not considered smart enough to be sent for a hackney.

“He’s an intelligent fellow, this Karl,” said Kossuth, after the girl had gone out of the room. “He speaks English fluently, or you may talk to him in French; and you can also trust him with your confidence.”

Karl came in.

His looks did not belie the description the ex-governor had given of him.

“Do you know anything of horses?” was the first question, put to him in French.

“I have been ten years in the stables of Count Teleky. His Excellency knows that.”

“Yes, captain. This young man has been groom to our friend Teleky; and you know the count’s propensity for horseflesh.”

Kossuth spoke of a distinguished Hungarian noble; then, like himself, a refugee in London.

“Enough?” said Maynard, apparently satisfied that Steiner was his man. “Now, Monsieur Karl, I merely want you to call me a cab.”

“Which sort, votre seigneurie?” asked the ex-groom, giving the true stable salute. “Hansom or four-wheeler?”

“Hansom,” replied Maynard, pleased with the man’s sharpness.

“Très bien.”

“And hear me, Monsieur Karl; I want you to select one with a horse that can go. You understand me?”

“Parfaitement.”

“When you’ve brought it to the gate, come inside here; and don’t wait to see me into it.”

With another touch to his cap, Karl went off on his errand.

“Now, Governor?” said Maynard, “I must ask you to look up that horsewhip and quarter-yard of crape.”

Kossuth appeared in a quandary.

“I hope, captain,” he said, “you don’t intend any – ”

“Excuse me, your Excellency,” said Maynard, interrupting him. “I don’t intend anything that may compromise you. I have my own feelings to satisfy in this matter – my own wrongs I might call them; more than that – those of my country.”

The patriotic speech went home to the Hungarian patriot’s heart. He made no farther attempt at appeasing the irate adventurer; but stepping hastily out of the room, soon returned, carrying the crape and horsewhip – the latter a true hound-scorer with buckhorn handle.

The gritting of wheels on the gravel told that the cab had drawn up before the gate.

“Good-night, Governor!” said Maynard, taking the things from Kossuth’s hand. “If the Times of to-morrow tells you of a gentleman having been soundly horsewhipped, don’t say it was I who did it.”

And with this singular caution, Maynard made his adieus to the ex-Dictator of Hungary!

Chapter Sixty Six.

Two Cabs

In London dark nights are the rule, not the exception. More especially in the month of November; when the fog rolls up from the muddy Thames, spreading its plague-like pall over the metropolis.

On just such a night a cab might have been seen issuing from the embouchure of South Bank, passing down Park Road, and turning abruptly into the Park, through the “Hanover Gate.”

So dense was the fog, it could only have been seen by one who chanced to be near it; and very near to know that it was a hansom.

The bull’s-eye burning overhead in front reflected inside just sufficient light to show that it carried only a single “fare,” of the masculine gender.

A more penetrating light would have made apparent a gentleman – so far as dress was concerned – sitting with something held in his hand that resembled a hunting-whip.

But the brightest light would not have sufficed for the scanning of his face – concealed as it was behind a covering of crape.

Before the cab carrying him had got clear of the intricacies of South Bank, a low whistle was heard both by him and his driver.

He seemed to have been listening for it; and was not surprised to see another cab – a hansom like his own – standing on the corner of Park Road as he passed out – its Jehu, with reins in hand, just settling himself upon his seat, as if preparing to start. Any one, who could have looked upon his face at the moment, could have told he had been expecting it.

Nor was he astonished, on passing through Hanover Gate, to perceive that the second cab was coming after him.

If you enter the Regent’s Park by this gate, take the left hand turning, and proceed for about a quarter of a mile, you will reach a spot secluded as any within the limits of London. It is where the canal, traversing along the borders of the Park, but inside its palings, runs between deep embankments, on both sides densely wooded. So solitary is this place, that a stranger to the locality could not believe himself to be within the boundaries of the British metropolis.

On the night in question neither the Park hag, nor its constable, were encountered along the drive. The damp, dense fog rendered it uncomfortable for both.

All the more favourable for him carried in the leading cab, whose design required darkness.

“Jarvey?” said he, addressing himself to his driver, through the little trap-door overhead. “You see that hansom behind us?”

“Can’t see, but I hear it, sir.”

“Well; there’s a gentleman inside it I intend horsewhipping.”

“All right, sir. Tell me when you want to stop.”

“I want to stop about three hundred yards this side of the Zoological Gardens. There’s a copse that comes close to the road. Pull up alongside of it; and stay there till I return to you.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” responded the driver, who, having received a sovereign in advance, was dead-bent on obedience. “Anything else I can do for your honour?”

“All I want of you is, if you hear any interference on the part of his driver, you might leave your horse for a little – just to see fair play.”

“Trust me, your honour! Don’t trouble yourself about that. I’ll take care of him?”

If there be any chivalry in a London cabman, it is to be found in the driver of a hansom – especially after having received a sovereign with the prospect of earning another. This was well-known to his “fare” with the craped face.

On reaching the described copse the leading cab was pulled up – its passenger leaping instantly out, and gliding in under the trees.