The Moon out of Reach | Page 8

past her, but never a single one that was
empty.
"Oh"--she turned desperately to her driver--"can't you do anything?
Run down and see if you can hail one for me. I'll stay by the taxi."
He shook his bead.
"Callin' taxis for people ain't my job," he remarked negligently. "I'm a
driver, I am."
Nan, driven by the extreme urgency of her need, stepped out into the
middle of the road and excitedly hailed the next taxicab that passed her
carrying luggage. The occupant, a woman, her attention attracted by
Nan's waving arm, leaned out from the window and called to her driver
to stop. Nan ran forward.
"Oh, are you by any chance going to Paddington?" she asked eagerly.
"My taxi's broken down and I'm afraid I'll miss my train."
The woman smiled her sympathy. She had a delightful smile.
"How awful for you! But I'm not going anywhere near there. I'm so
sorry I can't help."
The taxicab slid away and Nan stood once more forlornly watching the
stream go by. The precious moments were slipping past, and no one in
the world looked in the least as if they were going to Paddington. The

driver, superbly unconcerned, lit up a cigarette, while Nan stood in the
middle of the road, which seemed suddenly to have almost emptied of
traffic.
All at once a taxi sped up the wide road with only a single suit-case
up-ended in front beside the chauffeur. She planted herself directly in
its path, and waved so frantically that the driver slowed up, although
with obvious reluctance. Someone looked out of the window, and with
a vague, troubled surprise Nan realised that the cab's solitary passenger
was of the masculine persuasion. But she was far beyond being
deterred by a mere detail of that description.
"Are you going to Paddington?" she asked breathlessly.
"Yes, I am," came the answer. The speaker's voice had a slight,
well-bred drawl in it, reminiscent of the public school. "Can I do
anything for you?"
"You can drive me there, if you will," she replied, with the bluntness of
despair. "My taxi's broken down."
"But with pleasure."
The man was out of his own cab in an instant, and held the door open
while she paid her fare and ordered her luggage to be transferred. The
driver showed no very energetic appreciation of the idea; in fact, he
seemed inclined to dispute it, and, at the end of her patience, Nan
herself made a grab at her hat-box with the intention of carrying it
across to the other taxicab. In the same moment she felt it quietly taken
from her and heard the same drawling voice addressing her recalcitrant
driver.
"Bring that suit-case across and look sharp about it."
There was a curious quality of authority in the lazy voice to which the
taxi-man responded in spite of himself, and he proceeded to obey the
order with celerity. A minute later the transference was accomplished
and Nan found herself sitting side by side in a taxi with an absolute

stranger.
"He was a perfect beast of a driver!" was her first heart-felt ejaculation.
The man beside her smiled.
"I'm sure he was--a regular 'down-with-everything' type," he replied.
She stole a veiled glance at him. His face was lean, with a squarish jaw,
and the very definitely dark brows and lashes contrasted oddly with his
English-fair hair and blue-grey eyes. In one eye he wore a horn-rimmed
monocle from which depended a narrow black ribbon.
"I can't thank you enough for coming to my rescue," said Nan, after her
quick scrutiny. "It was so frightfully important that I should catch this
train."
"Was it?"
Somehow the brief question compelled an explanation, although it held
no suggestion of curiosity--nothing more than a friendly interest.
"Yes. I have a concert engagement to-morrow, and if I missed this train
I couldn't possibly make my connection at Exeter. I change on to the
South-Western line there."
"Then I'm very glad I sailed in at the crucial moment. Although you'd
have been able to reach your destination in time for the concert even
had the worst occurred to-day. You could have travelled down by an
earlier train to-morrow; if everything else had failed."
"But they've fixed a rehearsal for ten o'clock to-morrow morning."
"That certainly does complicate matters. And I suppose, in any case,
you'd rather not have to play in public immediately after a long railway
journey."
"How do you know I play?" demanded Nan. "It's just conceivable I
might be a singer!"

A distinct twinkle showed behind the monocle.
"There are quite a number of 'conceivable' things about you. But I
heard Miss Nan Davenant play several times during the war--at
concerts where special seats were allotted to the wounded. I'm sorry to
say I haven't