Number Seventeen | Page 2

forward from the depths of the limousine, and
waved a white-gloved hand to her father through a window jeweled
with raindrops.
There was nothing in the incident to provoke a second thought.
Assuredly, Frank Theydon-- as his friends called him-- was not the
only man in the vestibule of Daly's Theater who had found the girl well
worth looking at, and it was the mere accident of propinquity which
enabled him to overhear the quite commonplace remarks of father and
daughter.
A score of similar occurrences had probably taken place in the like
circumstances that night in London, and the maddest dreamer of
fantastic dreams would not have heard the fluttering wings of the spirit
of romance in connection with any one of them. It was by no means
marvelous, therefore, but rather in obedience to the accepted law of
things as they are when contrasted with things as they might be, if
Theydon both failed to attach any importance to that chance meeting
and proceeded forthwith to think of something else.
He did not forget it, of course. His artist's eyes had been far too
interested in a certain rare quality of delicate femininity in the girl's
face and figure, and his ear too quick to appreciate the music of her
cultured voice, that he should not be able to recall such pleasant
memories later. Indeed, during those fleeting moments on the threshold
of the theater, he had garnered quite a number of minor impressions,

not only of the girl, but of her father.
In some respects they were singularly alike. Thus, each had the same
proud, self-reliant carriage, the same large, brilliant eyes, serene brow
and firm mouth, the same repose of manner, the same clear, incisive
enunciation. Neither could move in any company, however eclectic,
without evoking comment.
They held in common that air of refinement and good breeding which
is, or should be, the best-marked attribute of an aristocracy. It was
impossible to imagine either in rags, but, given such a transformation,
each would be notable because of the amazing difference that would
exist between garb and mien.
It must not be imagined that Theydon indulged in this close analysis of
the physical characteristics of two complete strangers while his cab was
wheeling into the scurry of traffic in Cranbourn Street. Rather did he
essay a third time to light the cigarette which he still held between his
lips. And yet a third time was his intent balked.
A policeman stopped the east-bound stream of vehicles somewhat
suddenly at the corner of Charing Cross road; owing to the mud, the
taxi skidded a few feet beyond the line; a lamp was torn off by a heavy
wagon coming south; and a fierce argument between taxi driver and
policeman resulted in "numbers" being demanded for future vengeance.
Then Theydon took a hand in the dispute, poured oil on the troubled
waters by tipping the policeman half a crown and the driver half a
sovereign-- these sums being his private estimate of damages to dignity
and lamp-- and the journey was resumed, with a net loss, to the person
who had absolutely nothing to do with the affair, of twelve and
sixpence in money and nearly ten minutes in time.
Theydon was not rich, as shall be seen in due course, but he was
generous and impulsive. He hated the notion of any one suffering for
having done him a service, and the taxi man might reasonably be
deemed a real benefactor on that sloppy night.
So far as he was concerned, the delay of ten minutes was of no

consequence. It only meant a slightly deferred snuggling down into an
easy chair in his flat with a book and a pipe. That is how be would have
expressed himself if questioned on the point. In reality it influenced and
controlled his future in the most vital way, because, once the cab had
crossed Oxford Street and turned into the quiet thoroughfare on which
the first block of Innesmore Mansions abutted, he passed into a new
phase of existence.
The cigarette, lighted at last after the altercation, had filled the cab with
smoke to such an extent that Theydon lowered a window. At that
moment the driver was slowing down to take the corner of the even
more secluded road which contained Innesmore Mansions and the
gardens appertaining thereto, and nothing else. Necessarily, Theydon
was looking out, and he was very greatly surprised at seeing the
unknown gentleman of the theater walking rapidly round the same
corner.
He could not be mistaken. The stranger tilted back his umbrella and
raised his eyes to ascertain the name of the street, as though he was not
quite sure of his whereabouts, and the glare of a lamp fell directly on
his clean-cut,