She marked sharply the effect of her shaft.
Grayson turned a shade paler. He clutched Van Ingen's arm.
"Get me out of here!" he whispered hoarsely.
Lady Patricia viewed their departing backs with a fleeting ironical smile.
"Your father, my dear," she murmured to Doris, "is a very remarkable man."
Out in the fresh air, Grayson revived amazingly. His feebleness disappeared as if by magic, and he stepped out briskly. He nodded to a hansom in the rank and the man drew in to the opening.
Van Ingen made as if to follow, but Grayson held the apron door securely.
"No need in the world for you to accompany me, dear boy," he exclaimed, smiling. "Go back. I feel quite braced already. It was that devilish stuffiness inside--a momentary seizure. Good-night!" He waved his hand and sank back. The hansom started forward with a jerk, and the young man retraced his steps to the theatre, frowning thoughtfully.
Ten minutes later Grayson thrust up the trap.
"You may drop me here," he called. He descended and paid his fare. "I'll walk the rest of the way," he remarked casually.
"Bit thickish on foot to-night, sir," offered the driver respectfully. "Better let me set you down at the hotel." But his fare was already lost in the enveloping gloom.
Grayson wrapped his muffler closely about his chin, pulled down his hat to shadow his eyes, and hurried along like a man with a set destination.
Presently he halted and signalled to a cab, crawling along close to the curb. Grayson scrutinised it keenly. The horse looked strong.
"Can you take me some distance?" he asked the driver.
Grayson glanced about him furtively. "As far as this?" He stepped forward and gave an address in a carefully lowered voice.
The driver leaned far down from his high box and peered into his fare's face.
"It's fair worth a man's life on a night like this."
Two sovereigns gleamed in Grayson's bare outstretched palm.
"I'll double it if you drive fast," he offered.
"All right, sir," answered the man at length, a bit sullenly. "Jump in." He turned his horse round and drove rapidly toward the river.
The fog was still heavy and the blurred street-lamps looked ghastly in the yellow mist when the young messenger, the first half of his mission performed, struck briskly riverward to complete his business. He disposed of his violets at a corner stand, hailed a passing hansom boldly, and after a low consultation with the driver, got in. They drove steadily for an hour. The gas-lamps grew fewer, and the streets more narrow and gloomy.