The Voice in the Fog
A taxicab drew up before the canopy. He knew it was a taxicab because he could hear the sound of the panting engine. The curb-end of the canopy was curtained by the abominable fog. Mistily a forlorn figure emerged. The doorman started leisurely toward this figure. Killigrew pushed him aside violently. Molly, with her hat gone, her hair awry, her dress torn, her gloves ragged, her eyes puffed! He sprang toward her, filled with Berserker rage. Who had dared.
"Give the man five pounds," she whispered. "I promised it."
"Five. . . ."
"Give it to him! Good heavens, do I look as if I were joking? Pay him, pay him!"
Killigrew counted out five sovereigns, perhaps six, he was not sure. The chauffeur swooped them up, and set off.
"Molly Killigrew. . . ."
"Not a word till I get to the rooms. Hurry! Daniel, if you say anything I sha