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It was difficult to get through the gathering throng. When finally they succeeded in doing so, they found Wingarde stooping over the unconscious victim of the accident. He had satisfied himself that the boy lived, and was feeling rapidly for broken bones.

Becoming aware of Nina’s presence, he looked up with a frown. Then, seeing her piteous face, he refrained from uttering the curt rebuke that had risen to his lips.

“I want you to go home,” he said. “I will do all that is necessary here. Neville, take my wife home! The car is close at hand in Fenwick Street.”

“He isn’t dead?” faltered Nina shakily.

“No–certainly not.” Wingarde’s voice was confident.

He turned from her to speak to a policeman; and Nina yielded to Archie’s hand on her arm. She was more upset than she had realized.

Neither of them spoke during the drive westwards. Archie scowled a good deal, but he gave no vent to his feelings.

Arrived in Crofton Square, he would have taken his leave of her. But Nina would not hear of this.

“Please stay till Hereford comes!” she entreated. “You will want to know what he has done. Besides, I want you.”

Archie yielded to pressure. No word was spoken by either in praise or admiration of the man who had risked his life to save theirs. Somehow it was a difficult subject between them.

Nearly two hours later Wingarde arrived on foot. He reported Archie’s man only slightly the worse for his adventure.

“It ought to have killed him,” he said briefly. “But men of that sort never are killed. I told him to drive back to stables. The horse was as quiet as a lamb.”

“And the boy?” Nina asked eagerly.

“Oh, the boy!” Wingarde said. “His case is more serious. He was taken to the Wade Home. I went with him. I happen to know Wade.”

“That’s the West End physician,” said Archie. “He calls himself Wade, I know, when he wants to be incog.”

“That’s the man,” said Wingarde. “But I am not acquainted with him as the West End physician. He is purely a City acquaintance. Oh, are you going, Neville? We shall see you again, I suppose?”

It was not cordially spoken. Archie coloured and glanced at Nina.

“You are coming to dinner, aren’t you?” she said at once. “Please do! We shall be alone. And you promised, didn’t you?”

Archie hesitated for a moment. Wingarde was looking at him piercingly.

“I hope you won’t allow my presence to interfere with any plans you may have made for to-night’s amusement,” he remarked. “I shall be obliged to go out myself after dinner.”

Archie drew himself up. Wingarde’s tone stung.

“You are very good,” he said stiffly. “What do you say, Nina? Do you feel up to the theatre?”

Nina’s colour also was very high. But her eyes looked softer than usual. She turned to her husband.

“Couldn’t you come, too, for once, Hereford?” she asked. “We were thinking of the theatre. It–it would be nice if you came too.”

The falter in the last sentence betrayed the fact that she was nervous.

Wingarde smiled faintly, contemptuously, as he made reply.

“Really, that’s very kind of you,” he said. “But I am compelled to plead a prior engagement. You will be home by midnight, I suppose?”

Archie made an abrupt movement. For a second he hovered on the verge of an indignant outburst. The man’s manner, rather than his words, was insufferable. But in that second he met Wingarde’s eyes, and something he saw there checked him. He pulled himself together and somewhat awkwardly took his leave.

Wingarde saw him off, with the scoffing smile upon his lips. When he returned to the drawing-room Nina was on her feet, waiting for him. She was still unusually pale, and her eyes were very bright. She wore a restless, startled look, as though her nerves were on the stretch.

Wingarde glanced at her.

“You had better go and lie down till dinner,” he said.

Nina looked back at him. Her lips quivered a little, but when she spoke her voice was absolutely steady. She held her head resolutely high.