"Good Heavens!" shouted he, regardless of the driver, who grinned
scornfully from his private box above, the only witness to this most
unconventional comedy of circumstances.

"I've been--been here an hour--in this cab!" she cried plaintively. "Oh,
oh, oh! You'll never know how I felt all that time. It seemed a year.
Where did you get those awful-looking clothes, and--"

"What--aw--oh, the coat? Great Jehoshaphat! You don't mean to say
that--"

"I thought you were a detective!" she sobbed. "Oh, how wretched I've
been. Pay the man, dear, and take me--take me any place where there is
light. I'm dying from the sight and sound of this awful night."

Mr. Ridgeway lost no time in paying the driver and getting her on board
the _Saint Cloud_. She tried to explain as they hurried along, but he
told her there was time enough for that.

"We may be watched, after all," he said, looking anxiously in all
directions, a habit that had grown upon him to such an extent that he
feared it would cling to him through life. "Go to your stateroom,
dearest, and I'll send you something hot to drink. Good Heavens, what an
eternity it has been! Oh, if you could only know what I've been
calling myself!"

"I'm ashamed to admit it, dear, but _I've_ been calling you things, too.
And I've been so worried about you. How did you get away from that man?"