However underpaid it may be, the training of a house surgeon at a London hospital induces a certain readiness of action. Before any of the other passers-by had ceased to gape helplessly at this unusual spectacle Colin was halfway across the street.
Quick as he was, however, the situation had already developed. A big, burly man, clutching another by the collar, had staggered back against the wall of the pub, where, with his disengaged arm, he was endeavouring to defend himself as best he could against a rain of blows and kicks.
Striking out mercilessly right and left, Colin forced his way through the gang. He was only just in time, for exactly as he arrived a vicious kick in the ribs sent the big stranger sprawling to the pavement, his fingers still gripping the collar of his half-throttled prisoner.
The man who had laid him out—a truculent-looking scoundrel in a blue suit—was stepping in to complete his work when a smashing swing from Colin caught him full in the mouth. Reeling back from the blow, he collided violently with one of his friends, and for a second the whole attacking party were thrown into confusion.
Before they could recover the shrill note of a police whistle rang out close behind them. They all spun round instinctively, and through a gap in their ranks Colin caught sight of the slim figure of a girl stooping over the prostrate body of the constable. It was only a brief glimpse, for the next moment one of the ruffians sprang backward and lashed out at her with his belt. Dropping the whistle, she sank forward on to her knees, and with a wild, clattering rush the entire gang took to their heels.
In two strides Colin was at the girl's side. He was not easily upset, but the sight of that cowardly blow had filled him with such a sudden wave of fury that he found it difficult to control his voice as he bent down over the crouching figure.
"Are you much hurt?" he asked.
She raised her head, and a pair of beautiful but rather bewildered blue eyes looked up into his.
"No," she said. "I don't think I am. Is it all over?"
In spite of his anger Colin began to laugh.
"Yes," he added, "it's all over. They've bolted like a lot of rabbits, thanks to you."
He took her by the arm, and a trifle unsteadily, she scrambled to her feet.
"How do you feel?" he asked with some anxiety. "I was horribly afraid he'd hit you on the head."
"So he did," was the answer, "but luckily for me I've got a good deal of protection."
She lifted off the small velvet hat that she was wearing and rather tenderly patted the thick coils of dark red hair which gleamed like copper in the fading November sunlight. "The queer thing is," she added, "that it hasn't even given me a headache."
"I wish I'd known you were all right," said Colin ruefully. "I'd have gone after the brute and wrung his neck."
"You didn't do so badly as it was, mister," observed a voice at his elbow, and, turning round sharply, he found himself face to face with the burly stranger, whom he had last seen scuffling on the pavement. Except for a slight trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth the latter looked none the worse for his adventures.
"I owe something both to you and to this young lady," he continued. "If you hadn't come along just when you did I'd probably have got my head kicked in."
"You needn't thank me," protested Colin. "There's nothing I enjoy better than a good scrap."
He glanced round the late field of battle with a certain amount of amused curiosity. Three fresh and energetic-looking policemen had already appeared. One of them was grasping the arm of the now handcuffed prisoner, a second knelt beside the body of his injured comrade, while the third, with that scant ceremony which distinguishes the Metropolitan force, was thrusting back a rapidly increasing throng of interested spectators.
"What's it all about?" asked Colin.
Rummaging in his waistcoat pocket, the big man produced a dilapidated card.
"You'll see my name there," he said. "Inspector Marsden of the C.I.D." He jerked his head in the direction of the captive—a short, sandy-haired individual with a face like a rather disagreeable ferret. "You've helped us to get hold of a gentleman we've been wanting badly at the Yard for the last two months. That's 'Ginger Dick,' the leader of the toughest race-course gang in England."
"He must be fairly popular with his friends," observed Colin. "At least, they seemed quite anxious not to lose his society."
The Inspector smiled grimly. "You don't know 'em, sir. You can take it from me that all they're worrying about is whether he's going to split on 'em. There isn't a man in that crowd who wouldn't sell his own mother." He moved over to the second constable, who was still busy with his unconscious mate. "What's the damage?" he asked. "Anything serious?"
Colin stepped across after him. "You'd better let me have a look," he said. "I'm a doctor."
The two men at once made way, and, kneeling down in the gutter, he rapidly examined his patient's condition.
"You must get him to hospital as quick as you can," he said, looking up at the Inspector. "He's had a pretty bad crack on the head, and the sooner he's under treatment the better." He rose to his feet and brushed off the dust from his trousers. "Take him along to St. Christopher's," he added. "Tell them that Doctor Gray sent you, and that it's a case which requires immediate attention."
The Inspector nodded, and, having despatched one of his assistants to fetch an ambulance, turned back and addressed himself to the girl.
"You'll pardon me for not having thanked you before, miss," he said. "I never saw anything pluckier in my life than the way you chipped in and blew that whistle. There's not one young lady in a thousand who'd have had the nerve to do it."
The recipient of his praises coloured delicately.
"If you don't mind," he continued, "I'll make a note of your name and address. We might be glad of your evidence, and I know the commissioner would like to write you a little letter to send you his official thanks."
"Oh, he mustn't trouble to do that," objected the girl hastily. "I'm sure he's frightfully busy, and, after all, it's quite easy just to blow a whistle."
Colin laughed. "You can't get out of it," he said. "Still, if you'll tell the Inspector your name and where you live I don't suppose he'll bother you to give evidence unless it's absolutely necessary."
"You can count on that, miss," remarked the other reassuringly.
"Well, I live just round the corner at No. 46 Jubilee Place," said the girl, "and my name's Seymour—Miss Nancy Seymour."
The Inspector committed this information to an official-looking pocketbook, and then held out his hand to Colin.
"I shan't forget that you've saved my life, doctor," he said. "I hope that next time you're up in our direction you'll look in and pay us a visit." He paused. "And remember," he added, "that if there's ever any little way in which we can be of use to you, you've only got to let us know. We like to pay our debts at the Yard when we get the opportunity."
"I shall remember," said Colin, smiling. "It might come in handy one of these days."
He stepped forward as a movement amongst the onlookers heralded the approach of the ambulance, and, after assisting to lift the injured constable inside, came back to where the girl was standing.
"Can I see you as far as your house?" he asked. "I don't suppose any of those blackguards are still hanging about, but there's no point in running risks."
"Thank you," she said simply. "I should be very grateful if you would."
Under a fire of curious glances they pushed their way through the crowd and started off along the pavement in the direction of Jubilee Place.
Colin was the first to break the silence.
"Where did you spring from?" he asked. "I never saw you until you blew the whistle."
"I had just come out to buy a stamp," replied his companion. "I was walking peacefully along to King's Road when I suddenly found myself right in the middle of it."
"Well, you've got some pluck," said Colin admiringly. "That Inspector was quite right in what he said. Most girls would have given a shriek and flopped down in the gutter."
She coloured again in the same attractive fashion as before.
"It wasn't a question of pluck," she objected. "I acted entirely from impulse. If I had had time to think I should probably have done what you say." She stopped short with a little gesture of annoyance. "Oh dear, how stupid I am! I've quite forgotten to buy the stamp after all."
"It doesn't matter," said Colin. "I've got one in my pocket I can let you have."
They turned up a narrow street with some white buildings on one side of it, and at the door of the second house the girl halted.
"This is where I live," she said. "It was awfully kind of you to walk back with me."
"Not a bit," said Colin. "I'm very fond of a little gentle exercise." He pulled out a note-case and began to search through its various compartments. "If you'll wait half a minute," he added, "I'll see if I can find you that stamp."
She stood watching him with a certain look of indecision in her face.
"I don't know if you'd care to come in," she said rather hesitatingly. "I have only got a small studio, but I can at least offer you a cup of tea."
Colin unearthed the stamp and presented it to her in triumph.
"If you're quite certain I shan't be a nuisance," he said, "I should like it immensely. Fighting in the street always gives me a thirst."
Miss Nancy Seymour's blue eyes twinkled merrily, and, inserting a Yale key into the lock, she led the way up a small winding staircase to a door on the first landing.
"You mustn't mind if it's not very tidy," she remarked apologetically. "I have been typing all the morning, and I've not had time to put things straight."
She opened the door, and, following her inside, Colin found himself in an oddly shaped but rather attractive apartment, the principal feature of which was a big glass skylight, shaped like a coach-house roof.
The furniture was scanty, consisting chiefly of a low, comfortable-looking couch, a couple of old Windsor armchairs, and a stout deal table which at some remote period had evidently been stained brown. On the latter stood a typewriter flanked by a litter of loose sheets and several piles of badly written manuscript.
The farther corner of the room was curtained off, as though to serve the purpose of a kitchen or bedroom.
With a wave of her hand Nancy indicated the couch. "Try my patent sofa," she said hospitably. "I'll tidy up while the kettle's boiling."
"Don't do it for me," protested Colin. "I like to see a room a little topsy-turvy. You can't think how refreshing it seems after the suffocating neatness of a hospital."
"I'll put away these horrible manuscripts at all events," returned his hostess. "I've been working at them ever since nine o'clock. The mere sight of them makes me feel ill."
"What are they?" inquired Colin.
She made as near an approach to a grimace as nature would allow.
"Stories. And such bad ones! I think that all the worst authors in the world must live in Chelsea."
"It was rather unkind to type them out," observed Colin. "Somebody will probably have to read them now."
Nancy laughed. "Unfortunately," she said, "it happens to be my profession."
She covered up the typewriter and collected all the papers into an indiscriminate bundle.
"I sha'n't be long," she added, moving away toward the curtain. "Make yourself comfortable, and please smoke if you want to."
Accepting both these invitations, Colin lighted a cigarette and took up a restful position on the couch. He felt curiously at home, considering the novelty of his surroundings, but the whole affair had been so unusual that somehow or other this impromptu tea party seemed to constitute a natural and appropriate climax.
That it would also turn out to be an extremely entertaining one he had no manner of doubt. Whoever Miss Nancy Seymour might be, she was certainly the most attractive girl he had ever met in his life. Her looks alone were sufficient to arouse anybody's enthusiasm. With her vividly coloured hair and almost forget-me-not blue eyes she possessed that sort of inspiriting beauty which Rossetti in his healthier and happier moments would have revelled in painting.
But, delightful as Colin found her appearance, there was something still more fascinating to him in the unaffected simplicity and friendliness of her manner. What he had said to Mark about his knowledge of women was perfectly true. As a medical student he had worked exceptionally hard, and this fact, combined with his devotion to football and boxing, had left him little time to cultivate any of those semi-amorous friendships which seem to be the principal hobby of so many budding physicians. It was, in fact, the first time that he had ever been perfectly at ease in a girl's society, and the sensation was so pleasing that he felt no objection to its indefinite extension.
He could hear Nancy moving about behind the curtain, the pop of a gas ring and the chink of cups giving some clue to the nature of her activities. Six or seven minutes must have elapsed, however, before she made her reappearance, this time carrying a tray with all the necessary equipment for tea. She had discarded her hat and coat, and in her simple indoor costume Colin thought that she looked prettier than ever.
"Don't get up," she said, as he started to rise to his feet. "I'll bring over that other little table and then we can help ourselves."
Suiting the action to the word, she deposited the tray on the end of the sofa, and pulled up a sort of rickety three-legged stool which looked like the final effort of some disillusioned amateur carpenter.
"It's all rather primitive," she continued, "but you must pretend not to notice. You see, I've had to furnish the place myself, and I've never yet had enough money to do it properly."
Colin looked round with a contented eye. "I don't see what more you want," he observed, "not unless you're naturally luxurious."
"I expect that must be it," she replied, pouring out the tea. "Anyhow, I know that directly I can afford it I mean to buy some new curtains and also a nice thick velvety carpet from Harrod's." She smiled. "That won't be for some time though—not unless there's a boom in bad stories."
"If it isn't an impertinent question," said Colin, "how long have you been in Chelsea?"
"About eighteen months," she answered, handing him his cup. "I had always lived in the country before then, but there were reasons why I had to start work of some sort, and typing was the only useful thing I happened to know. Somebody told me that Chelsea was full of authors, so I came here, and here I've been ever since."
Colin helped himself to a sugared biscuit. "I hope you charge them a lot," he said, "and I hope they pay regularly."
"It might be worse," she replied. "As it happens, I've got enough money of my own to pay the rent of the studio, and what I make out of my typing just keeps me going in clothes and food and cigarettes." She paused to refill the teapot. "It's just the feeling that I'm wasting my time so," she continued, "that annoys me. If I were working at something really useful I should be quite happy, but this stuff"—she made a distasteful gesture toward the table—"well, I can't think how anybody can possibly write it, let alone read it."
Colin suddenly slapped his leg with a bang which made the china rattle.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Why, of course, you're the very girl!"
He laid down his cup and gazed at her in a kind of triumphant satisfaction.
Nancy returned his inspection with a perplexed smile. "I daresay I am," she admitted. "It's rather hard to tell at present, isn't it?"
Colin laughed. "I'm not mad," he explained. "If you meant what you said just now, if you're really looking out for something that's worth doing, I can put you on to a job straight away."
There was a moment's silence.
"It's very nice of you," said Nancy. "The only question is that I should probably be quite unqualified for it."
"On the contrary," retorted Colin, "you're the exact person that I've been commissioned to find."
"It must be a queer sort of job then," remarked Nancy, still smiling. "All you know about me at present is that I can type, make tea, and blow a police whistle."
"Well, there you are," observed her guest. "It's just that all-round sort of ability that Mark wants."
He sat back against the wall, and, without any further delay, proceeded to enter into a full description of the distressing problem which overhung the Shadwell ménage.
"If you'll chip in and fill the gap," he continued, "you'll be doing a real Christian act. Mark jeers at his own work, but, as a matter of cold fact, he and Mary have buried themselves down in that beastly slum out of sheer good nature. They're the sort of people you don't meet twice in a lifetime. Mark's a brick, and Mary's just the sweetest and most unselfish woman that ever trod this earth."
"They sound perfect dears," said Nancy. "I should love to know them whether I get the job or not."
"Get the job!" repeated Colin. "Why, good Lord, they'll simply be all over you as soon as you show yourself."
Nancy's blue eyes gleamed merrily. "You seem to forget, Doctor Gray," she said, "everybody isn't quite so rapid and trustful as you are. They might, for instance, like to know something about me first."
"Well, you can tell 'em," replied Colin. "You haven't been in prison, have you, or anything of that sort? Not that Mark would mind a bit if you had."
"What a nice, obliging man!" was the answer. "No, I haven't been in prison, and I don't think I've ever done anything to deserve it. All the same, if any one offered me an engagement they would have to take me absolutely on trust. You see, I have never earned a salary before, so I've got no testimonials."
"Yes, you have," objected Colin. "You've got mine and the policeman's. That ought to be enough for any reasonable employer." He glanced at his watch. "Look here," he added eagerly, "if you're doing nothing in particular, why shouldn't we go down there straight away? Mark usually takes half an hour off for tea about four o'clock, so we should just catch them at the right time."
"How does one get to Shadwell?" asked Nancy. "I don't even know where it is."
Colin jumped up briskly. "I'll drive you down," he said. "I've got a little car in Church Street. I was just going along there to do some repairs."
Nancy made a movement of protest. "Oh, but, please——" she said. "I don't want to take up all your afternoon—not if you're busy."
"That's all right," observed Colin. "You shove on your hat and coat. I shall have plenty of time to tinker at the car when we get back."
With an air of resigned amusement Nancy rose to her feet.
"I am trusting entirely to you, Doctor Gray," she said. "If your friends throw me out ignominiously I sha'n't be the least surprised."
She collected the tea things, and, crossing the room to the farther corner, disappeared again behind the curtain.
After a surprisingly short interval she returned, ready dressed for the journey.
"You look ripping," said Colin, eyeing her with frank approval. "I'm longing to see old Mark's face when he hears you're his new secretary."
"Well, it's more than I am," remarked Nancy.
She paused for a second or two to make a final inspection of herself in the looking glass, and then, following her guest out on to the landing, closed and locked the door behind her.
They descended the staircase and were just emerging into the street when a big white Daimler swung into view round the corner of the King's Road.
Nancy uttered a little exclamation which sounded like one of annoyance, but before she could speak the driver turned in toward the pavement and drew up alongside of them. He proved to be a tall, clean-shaven, middle-aged man, with rather dissipated blue eyes.
"Hullo, young lady," he said, raising his hat, "where are you off to? I was coming along to take you out for a drive."
Nancy acknowledged his greeting without any apparent enthusiasm.
"It was very kind of you," she replied, "but I am afraid I can't manage it to-day. I have promised to go out to tea with some friends of Doctor Gray's." She paused for a moment, and then glanced hesitatingly from one to the other of them. "Let me introduce you," she added. "Doctor Gray—Major Fenton."
The two men nodded to each other.
"It will do you much more good to come for a spin," persisted the new arrival. "Besides, I understood that we more or less fixed it up last Thursday."
"Did we?" said Nancy coolly. "I don't remember actually mentioning the day."
"Well, I understood so anyhow," returned the other. He leaned across and opened the door. "Come along," he added persuasively. "I am sure Doctor Gray will excuse you."
"I have no doubt he would," said Nancy, "but, as it happens, I particularly want to meet his friends." She held out a small gloved hand, which the other accepted with obvious reluctance. "You must really excuse me, Major Fenton," she continued. "I can't possibly manage to come to-day though I am very much obliged to you for offering to take me."
Except for an ugly glint in his blue eyes, the owner of the car managed to control his emotions.
"Oh, very well," he said, with a rather forced laugh, "if you're really booked up, of course that settles it. We must make it another day instead, eh? How about to-morrow?"
"To-morrow would be all right," said Nancy, "as far as I know at present."
"I'll call for you at the same time, then—say three o'clock, or perhaps we'd better make it a quarter past." He lifted his hat again, and, after bestowing a curt nod on Colin, leaned over and closed the door of the car. The next moment he was moving away rapidly up the street.
Nancy gave a sigh of relief.
"I'm glad you were with me," she said, as they started off in the opposite direction. "If I had been alone I couldn't very well have got out of it."
Colin looked at her in surprise. "Why on earth should you go if you don't want to?" he asked. "Is that truculent warrior your guardian or what?"
Nancy shook her head. "I don't know anything about him," she answered, "except that he happens to be an old friend of my father's." She paused for an instant as they turned the corner into King's Road. "You see, I am rather alone in the world," she continued. "My father and mother both died when I was a baby, and as Major Fenton took the trouble to come and hunt me out about two months ago I didn't like to seem ungrateful."
There was a touch of wistfulness in her voice which went straight to Colin's heart.
"Of course, that's different," he said gently. "It's rotten bad luck to be left all by oneself. Haven't you any relations or people of that sort?"
"None that I ever heard of," was the answer. "My father and mother were living in a little village in Cornwall, and one day they were caught in a storm out sailing, and they were both drowned. No one seemed to know anything about them at all. A lawyer at Helston, a very kind man called Mr. Penwarren, advertised in the papers and made inquiries everywhere. They all led to nothing, however, and it ended with my going to live with an old farmer and his wife who had offered to take care of me. There was a little money—something like nine hundred pounds—which Mr. Penwarren had invested for me, and that gave me the chance of coming to London and setting up as a typist." She stopped short, and glanced at Colin with a sudden trace of embarrassment. "I don't know why I am telling you all this," she added. "I'm afraid I must be boring you horribly."
Colin shook his head. "I never felt more interested in my life. I thought that things like that only happened in books and plays."
"I wish they did," said Nancy. "I simply hate not knowing who I am. It makes one feel like a lost dog."
"But how about our genial friend in the car?" inquired Colin. "If he was a pal of your father's he must surely have been able to give you some information."
"That's just what he can't do," said Nancy. "He met my father years ago down at Forth Leven, where they used to go out fishing together. He went abroad with his regiment after that, and it was only when he came home this spring and happened to be in the same neighbourhood that he found out about the accident. He took the trouble to go over to Helston and see the lawyer, Mr. Penwarren, who gave him my address. I can't imagine why he should have bothered about me at all, but for some extraordinary reason he seems to have thought it was his duty. Anyhow, he has certainly gone out of his way to try and be kind to me, and although I don't like him I naturally feel a certain amount of gratitude. He must be rather a nice man really or he wouldn't have behaved as he has."
"I daresay you're right," said Colin doubtfully. "I have been told that the most objectionable people often have hearts of gold."
He piloted her round the corner of Church Street and led the way into a small garage, where a miscellaneous collection of cars were ranged along the walls.
"This is mine," he remarked, coming to a halt in front of a rather battered four-seater. "She's not a beauty to look at, but she can go like the devil."
Before Nancy could offer any comment a young man in dirty overalls wriggled out from beneath a neighbouring limousine.
Colin greeted him with a friendly nod.
"I am going to take her out after all, Davis," he said. "I shall be back some time this evening, and if you're here we can run over her together."
Mr. Davis wiped his hands upon a piece of cotton waste and glanced appreciatively at Nancy. "Very good, sir," he replied; "but, if you'll excuse my saying so, I shouldn't drive too fast—not if you've got a lady with you. The steering gear's none too sound."
Colin laughed. "You needn't pay any attention to Davis," he observed to Nancy. "Like all people who have to give credit, he's a hopeless pessimist."
He opened the door for her, and, climbing up alongside into the driving seat, switched on the spark and the lamps.
With a slight shrug of his shoulders, as though to disclaim further responsibility, Mr. Davis bent down over the starting-handle. After several ineffectual jerks the engine suddenly began running, and the next moment Colin was backing his way out through the open doorway.
Sitting beside him, with her chin buried comfortably inside her collar, Nancy made no attempt at conversation. From the hint dropped by Mr. Davis she concluded that Colin was the sort of driver whom it was safer not to disturb with unnecessary chatter, an opinion which had been fully confirmed some time before they arrived at Sloane Square.
He drove, indeed, at a pace which would have proved highly distressing to any one of a timid disposition. Fortunately for Nancy, however, her nerves were in excellent order, and after the first half mile had been safely negotiated she began to find that the sensation of missing buses by a quarter of an inch was not without a peculiar and exhilarating charm.
Apart from that, the actual journey through what to her was a totally unknown quarter of London was in itself a sufficiently stimulating experience. The crowds in the City, the flaring coster barrows in St. George's Road, and the gradually increasing squalor and gloom as they drew nearer to their destination, all provided her with an unfailing source of interest.
A little way down Shadwell High Street, at the corner of a side lane, Colin came to a halt in front of an uninviting-looking public house, alongside which was a closed gate leading apparently into a yard.
"This is where I generally leave the car," he announced. "Mark's place is only a few yards farther on."
As he spoke the door of the pub opened, and a stout gentleman in trousers, carpet slippers, and a rather dirty shirt loomed up in the opening.
"'Ullo, Mister Gray," he observed, in a kind of hoarse wheeze. "Quite a stranger, ain't yer?"
He spat genially into the gutter and, stepping forward, offered his hand to Colin.
"Brought a bit o' comp'ny with yer this time, I see," he added.
"That's right," said Colin. "Let me introduce you to each other. Mr. Higgins—Miss Seymour."
The fat man wiped his hand on the back of his trousers and transferred it to Nancy.
"Pleased to meet yer, miss," he remarked. "Any friend o' Mister Gray's a friend o' mine."
"Can I shove the car in your yard?" inquired Colin.
"Certainly, an' welcome," was the answer. "You sit where you are an' I'll open the gaite for yer."
He produced a key, and, having fumbled for a moment with the rusty padlock, disclosed the entrance to a narrow courtyard, the only occupant of which was a surly-looking, red-eyed bull terrier, who was tethered to an empty barrel.
"She's as saife 'ere as in the perlice station," continued Mr. Higgins, as the car came to a stand-still against the wall. "Saifer, I should say, from wot I seen o' some o' them cops."
"I shouldn't wonder," said Colin with a laugh. He switched off the engine, and, getting out of the car, proceeded to rid himself of his driving gloves. "I don't suppose we shall be very long," he added. "We're only going to have a cup of tea with the doctor."
"You'll find me inside, any'ow," returned Mr. Higgins. He stopped and fixed an admiring glance on Nancy, who was pleasantly employed in tickling the bull terrier's left ear. "See that?" he continued with a chuckle. "Dang me if that don't taike the biscuit. Scratchin' of 'is head saime as if 'e was a little lamb."
"I always select my friends on account of their courage," explained Colin unconcernedly.
He strolled forward to the entrance, where Nancy joined him, and the two of them waited on the pavement while the gate was being refastened. Then, after declining the pressing offer of a little refreshment from Mr. Higgins, they strolled off again along the narrow and unsavoury thoroughfare which is the nearest approach that Shadwell can boast to a main street.
"You mustn't judge the place entirely by its smells and its appearance," said Colin. "You will probably find the people a bit rough at first, but they're a jolly friendly lot really, and they all adore Mark. When they know you're working for him they'll be as nice to you as possible."
"Perhaps they won't have the chance," returned Nancy. "As I said before, the doctor may be one of those extraordinary people who expect to get something useful in return for their money."
"Well, we'll soon settle that point, anyway," observed Colin.
He pulled up in front of an old-fashioned two-story house, which had evidently survived from the days when Shadwell was more or less a country village. It stood a little way back from the street behind some battered iron railings, a brass plate on the door and a red lamp over the side entrance affording sufficient indications of its owner's profession.
Colin advanced to the front door and rang the bell.
Its jangling had scarcely died away when there was a sound of footsteps inside, and the next moment a flood of light streamed out into the gloom.
A slim, sweet-faced woman, with beautiful but rather tired gray eyes, was standing on the mat.
As soon as she saw who it was her expression lit up in a smile of unaffected pleasure.
"Why, it's Colin!" she exclaimed. "How delightful! I thought it was someone cadging for subscriptions."
Colin shook his head. "It's not money we want, lady," he said, "it's tea." He pulled Nancy forward into the light. "By the way, let me introduce Miss Nancy Seymour. Nancy—Mary; Mary—Nancy."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I thought you were alone." She pressed Nancy's hand in a friendly welcome, and then, stepping back, shepherded them into the hall.
"Take Miss Seymour upstairs, Colin," she said. "You'll find Mark in the study. He's just finished work. You must excuse my deserting you for a moment. It's Martha Jane's day out, so I'm getting tea."
"Can I help?" inquired Nancy.
She shook her head with another smile. "Everything's ready," she answered. "You go along with Colin, and I'll be up in a minute. I've only got to fetch the crumpets."
She disappeared in the direction of the back regions, and having deposited his hat and coat on the hall table, Colin led the way upstairs.
As they reached the first landing a door on the right opened, and Mark himself appeared on the threshold. He had a large cherry-wood pipe in his mouth, and he had discarded his frock coat in favour of a Norfolk jacket.
"Hullo, Colin!" he exclaimed. "I thought I heard your musical voice. Why the devil——"
He stopped short as he suddenly caught sight of Nancy.
"You shouldn't swear in front of ladies," said Colin reprovingly. "It's not done in the best medical circles."
Mark came forward with an embarrassed air.
"I say, please excuse me," he stammered. "I didn't see there was any one else there."
"It's all right," said Nancy, laughing. "I've heard the expression before—several times."
Colin looked at them both with mischievous amusement.
"Hadn't you better introduce us?" suggested Mark. "It would be more useful than standing there grinning like a Cheshire cat."
"I didn't think it was necessary," said Colin. "Surely you've guessed that you're talking to the angel?"
Mark stared at him in bewilderment.
"Talking to whom?" he inquired.
"The angel," repeated Colin. "You asked me to find you an angel, and here she is!"
A sudden light seemed to break in upon their host's intelligence.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "You don't say so! Come along into the study."
He ushered them both into a snug, comfortably furnished room, lined all round with books, where a table was set out for tea and a bright fire was burning in the grate.
"Now, Colin," he demanded, "were you pulling my leg, or is this really a fact?"
"Of course it's a fact," said Colin, "and a very nice one too."
"I can see that for myself," retorted Mark. He turned to Nancy and pushed forward a chair. "Do sit down," he added. "You must forgive my being rather stupid, but I really thought Colin was joking. You see, I only mentioned the matter to him a few hours ago."
"It doesn't take me long to do a little job like that," said Colin, "not when I once start it."
Nancy was about to speak when she was interrupted by a plaintive request from outside that someone would open the door. Colin hastened to comply, and Mrs. Mark, carrying a teapot and a large covered plate, sailed smilingly into the room.
"Be careful of the crumpets, Colin," she said, as he relieved her of her burden. "I have done them with a double lot of butter in honour of your visit."
Mark laid his hand on his wife's shoulder.
"Mary," he said, wheeling her round so that she faced Nancy, "do you know who this is?"
"Of course I do," was the answer. "We were introduced to each other on the doorstep. I had no idea that Colin had such nice friends."
"But you haven't heard the really thrilling part of it. This is the dream secretary who is going to get us out of all our troubles."
"Oh, how splendid!" exclaimed Mary, but before she could add anything further Nancy rose to her feet with a little protesting gesture.
"Please," she said, "please! You're making me feel the most dreadful humbug and impostor!" She turned to Colin. "Do tell them the truth, Doctor Gray."
"I'm only waiting for the chance," said Colin.
With a good-natured chuckle Mark placed his pipe on the mantelpiece, and pulled up a couple of chairs to the table.
"Fire ahead, my lad," he observed. "That's to say, if you can eat crumpets and talk intelligibly at the same time."
Spurred on by this encouragement, Colin set about his task with obvious relish. He was a good hand at telling a story, and under his eloquent treatment the slightly unusual circumstances which had attended his first introduction to Nancy lost nothing in dramatic freshness. Retailed, indeed, amid the chink of tea-cups and the pleasant crackling of the wood fire, they seemed to appear more romantic than ever, and both Mark and Mary listened to him with a fascinated interest which showed itself plainly in their faces.
Having described the capture of "Ginger Dick" and done full justice to the spirited behaviour of Nancy during the operations, he went on to relate how he had walked back with her to the studio, and had been admitted into the secret of her profession.
"Of course," he finished, "directly I heard that I knew where I was. You'd asked me to find you a resourceful angel, and here she was fluttering round Chelsea wasting her life typing out bad stories! The whole thing was evidently a put-up job on the part of Providence."
"It seems to be like a direct answer to prayer," said Mark, with considerable enthusiasm. "I can hardly believe it even now."
Mary leaned across and began refilling Nancy's cup. "My dear," she begged, "please say that it's true. You can't imagine how it will relieve our feelings. If Colin has been misrepresenting the situation I shall burst into floods of tears."
"I am afraid he has," declared Nancy, laughing, "but only with regard to my qualifications. If I really thought that I could be of any use to you, there's nothing I should like better than to come and work here."
Mark rose to his feet and brandished the teacup triumphantly over his head.
"This is magnificent," he exclaimed. "What the Prayer Book calls 'a happy issue out of all our afflictions.'"
His wife regarded him with an affectionate smile. "You had better control your feelings, Mark," she said. "If you go on like that Miss Seymour will think you're mad, and she'll probably resign straight away." She turned to Nancy. "I should hate to say anything that could possibly put you off, but I think it's only fair to give you a word of warning. You are so young and so pretty that it seems a shame you should bury yourself in Shadwell. We do our best to be cheerful, but, you know, a doctor's practice in the East End of London is nearly all hard work and no play. You will probably find it horribly depressing."
Nancy shook her head. "I am not afraid of that," she said. "I rather like hard work as long as it's useful. What I'm doubtful about is whether I can do what you want."
"Good Lord, yes," exclaimed Mark hastily. "It's only just a matter of common sense. Mary would put you up to the ropes in half an hour."
"What are you doing now?" suggested the latter. "Why don't you stay on here and have supper with us? There will be plenty of time before then to give you a rough idea of what the work is like, and we can settle up the whole thing straight away."
Mary glanced at Colin. "It sounds a good idea," she agreed. "I suppose I can get home by train?"
"You won't have to worry about that," said Colin. "I'll take the car up to the garage and do my repairs, and then come down again and join you here."
In a half-humorous, half-wistful fashion Nancy looked round at all three of them.
"I am not used to people being so kind," she said. "Unless somebody's disagreeable soon I am afraid I shall begin to cry."
Mary came up to her and again squeezed her hands affectionately. "You must never cry in this house, my dear," she said. "It's the only form of dissipation that Mark won't allow."
* * * * * * * * *
It was exactly two and a half hours later when Colin, straightening himself with a grunt, turned triumphantly to the pessimistic Davis.
"I think we've fixed her this time," he observed, wiping his hands on his dungaree trousers. "It will be nice to be able to push along at a reasonable pace without feeling that something's going to give."
The other lifted up the front seat and thrust away the spanner which he had been holding in his hand.
"It didn't seem to make much difference," he replied, "not judgin' by the way you started off this afternoon. I was half expectin' you and that young lady to come back on a couple of stretchers."
"Oh, we got along all right," said Colin. "Miss Seymour enjoyed the drive very much indeed."
"Did she?" was the somewhat incredulous answer. "Well, I reckon if she knew the state that steering gear was in she must be hard up for a bit of excitement.”
Colin laughed, and, stripping off his overalls, stuffed them away into an open locker.
"You had better let me have the key," he said. "I don't suppose I shall be back till about eleven. I have promised to go down to Shadwell for supper, only I must slip round to the hospital and tidy myself up first."
Davis handed over the desired article, and a few minutes afterward, leaving his car in the gutter, Colin hurried up the steps of St. Christopher's and passed in through the swing doors.
On catching sight of him the porter stepped out from his box.
"Telegram for you, sir," he announced. "Come in about a quarter of an hour ago."
Colin paused beneath the big centre light and, ripping open the envelope, pulled out its contents.
The message was short but very much to the point:
"Please call at the Red Lodge to-morrow three-thirty.—CARTER."