Number Seventeen

Number Seventeen, by Louis
Tracy

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Title: Number Seventeen
Author: Louis Tracy
Release Date: January, 2004 [EBook #4996] [Yes, we are more than

one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on April 7,
2002]
Edition: 10
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, NUMBER
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Number Seventeen
by Louis Tracy, 1915
CHAPTER I
THE OUTCOME OF ARTISTIC CURIOSITY
"Taxi, sir? Yes, sir. No. 4 will be yours."
A red-faced, loud-breathing commissionaire, engaged in the lucrative
task of pocketing sixpences as quickly as he could summon cabs,
vanished in a swirl of macintoshes and umbrellas.
People who had arrived at the theater in fine weather were emerging
into a drizzle of rain. "All London," as the phrase goes, was flocking to
see the latest musical comedy at Daly's, but all London, regarded thus
collectively, is far from owning motor cars, or even affording taxicabs,
so the majority of the play-goers were hurrying on foot towards tube
railways and omnibus routes.
Still, a popular light opera could hardly fail to draw many patrons from

the upper ranks of society, and, in the crush at the main exit, Francis
Berrold Theydon, hesitating whether to walk or wait the hazard of a cab,
deemed himself fortunate when a panting commissionaire promised to
secure a taxi "in half a minute."
Automobiles of every known variety were snorting up to the curb and
bustling off again as promptly as their users could enter and bestow
themselves in dim interiors. Being a considerate person-- wishful also
to light a cigarette-- Theydon moved out of the way. In so doing, he
was cannoned against by an impetuous footman, whose cry, "Your car,
sir," led him to follow the man's alert eyes.
He saw a tall, elderly gentleman, with clean-shaven, shrewd, and highly
intelligent features, of the type which finance, or the law, or a
combination of both, seems to evolve only in big cities, escorting a
young lady from the vestibule. Then Theydon remembered that he had
noticed this self-same girl's remarkable beauty as she was silhouetted in
white against the dark background of a first-tier box. He had even
speculated idly as to her identity, and had come to the conclusion, on
catching her face in profile, that she must be the daughter of the man
seated by her side but half-hidden behind a heavy curtain.
The likeness was momentarily lost now while the two neared him, yet
discovered anew when they halted for a second at his elbow. Oddly
enough, the man was carrying an umbrella, which he proceeded to open,
and his daughter's astonished question put their relationship beyond
doubt.
"Dad," she said, with a charming smile in which there was just a hint of
a pout, "aren't you coming home with me?"
"No. I must look in at the Constitutional Club. It's only a step. I'll take
no harm. This sleet looks worse than it is when every drop shines in the
glare of so many lamps. Now, in with you, Evelyn! Tell Downs to
come back, and don't forget which club. Anyhow, I'll tell him myself."
"Shall I wait up for you?"

"Well-- er-- I shan't be late. I'll be free by the time Downs returns."
"No. 4 taxi!" came a voice, and Theydon saw his commissionaire
perched on the step of a cab swinging in deftly behind the waiting car.
The girl, gazing at her father, happened to look for an instant at
Theydon, who, fearful lest his candidly admiring glance might have
been a trifle too sustained, pretended a hurried interest in an unlighted
cigarette. That was all. The three crossed the pavement almost
simultaneously.
The next moment the unknown goddess was gone, though Theydon
snatched a final glimpse of her, faintly visible, yet no less radiantly
lovely, as she leaned