The Wheel O Fortune | Page 4

was about to turn and find out what had become of the lady, when some one said quietly:
"Well saved, King Dick!"
It was the Hon. John Seymour who spoke. Rigid as a statue, and almost as helpless, he was standing in the middle of the road, with his left hand holding the flag and a drawn sword in his right. Yet a school nickname bridged five years so rapidly that the man who had just been reviling Fate smiled at the picturesque officer of the Guards in the old, tolerant way, the way in which the hero of the eleven or fifteen permits his worshipers to applaud.
But this mutual recognition went no further. The Guards must on to St. James's. Some incomprehensible growls set them in motion again, the drum banged with new zest, and the street gradually emptied, leaving only a few curious gapers to surround the damaged victoria and the trembling horses. The fresh outburst of music brought renewed prancing, but the pair were in hand now, for Royson held the reins, and the mud- bedaubed coachman was ready to twist their heads off in his wrath.
"Don't know what took 'em," he was gasping to the policeman. "Never knew 'em be'ave like this afore. Quiet as sheep, they are, as a ryule."
"Too fat," explained the unemotional constable. "Give 'em more work an' less corn. Wot's your name an' address? There's this 'ere lamp-post to pay for. Cavalry charges in Buckingham Palace Road cost a bit."
An appreciative audience grinned at the official humor. But Royson was listening to the somewhat lively conversation taking place behind him.
"Are you injured in any way?" cried the gentleman in the far coat, obviously addressing the lady in the victoria. The too accurate cadence in his words bespoke the foreigner, the man who has what is called "a perfect command" of English.
"Not in the least, thank you," was the answer. The voice was clear, musical, well-bred, and decidedly chilling. The two concluding words really meant "no thanks to you," The lady was, however, quite self- possessed, and, as a consequence, polite.
"But why in the world did you not jump out when I shouted to you?" demanded the man.
"Because you threw your half of the rug over my feet, and thus hindered me."
"Did I? Ach, Gott! Do you think I deserted you, then?"
"No, no, I did not mean that, Baron von Kerber. The affair was an accident, and you naturally thought I would follow your example, I did try, twice, to spring clear, but I lost my balance each time. We have no cause to blame one another. My view is that Spong was caught napping. Instead of arguing about things we might have done, we really ought to thank this gentleman, who prevented any further developments in some wonderful way not quite known to me yet."
The lady was talking herself into less caustic mood. Perhaps she had not expected the Baron to shine in an emergency. Her calmness seemed to irritate him, though he was most anxious to put himself right with her.
"My object in jumping out so quickly was to run to the horses' heads," he said. "Unfortunately, I tripped and nearly fell. But why sit there? We must take a hansom. Or perhaps you would prefer to go by train?"
"Oh, a cab, by all means."
The horses were now standing so quietly that Royson handed the reins to the coachman, who was examining the traces. Then he was able to turn and look at the lady. He saw that she was young and pretty, but the heavy furs she wore half concealed her face, and the fact that his own garments were frayed, while his hands and overcoat were plastered with mud off the wheels, did not help to dissipate a certain embarrassment that gripped him, for he was a shy man where women were concerned. She, too, faltered a little, and the reason was made plain by her words.
"I do not know how to thank you," she said, and he became aware that she had wonderful brown eyes. "I think--you saved my life. Indeed, I am sure you did. Will you--call--at an address that I will give you? Mr. Fenshawe will be most anxious to--to--acknowledge your services."
"Oh, pray leave that to me, Miss Fenshawe," broke in the Baron, whose fluent English had a slight lisp. "Here is my card," he went on rapidly, looking at Royson with calm assurance. "Come and see me this evening, at seven o'clock, and I will make it worth your while."
A glance at Royson's clothes told him enough, as he thought, to appraise the value of the assistance given. And he had no idea that his fair companion had really been in such grave danger. He believed that the shattering of the pole against the lamp standard had