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Groping his way to the front-door, he opened it with some difficulty,
and descended the steps to the hansom. The tired driver looked up as he
approached, and asked where he was to go next.
Michael observed that Morris had followed him to the steps; a brilliant
inspiration came to him. 'Anything t' give pain,' he reflected. . . .
'Drive Shcotlan' Yard,' he added aloud, holding to the wheel to steady
himself; 'there's something devilish fishy, cabby, about those cousins.
Mush' be cleared up! Drive Shcotlan' Yard.'
'You don't mean that, sir,' said the man, with the ready sympathy of the
lower orders for an intoxicated gentleman. 'I had better take you home,
sir; you can go to Scotland Yard tomorrow.'
'
Is it as friend or as perfessional man you advise me not to go
Shcotlan' Yard t'night?' enquired Michael. 'All righ', never min'
Shcotlan' Yard, drive Gaiety bar.'
'
'
'
'
The Gaiety bar is closed,' said the man.
Then home,' said Michael, with the same cheerfulness.
Where to, sir?'
I don't remember, I'm sure,' said Michael, entering the vehicle, 'drive
Shcotlan' Yard and ask.'
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