Of course Mr. Marrier had a taxi-cab waiting exactly opposite the coach from which Edward Henry descended.  It was just this kind of efficient attention that was gradually endearing him to his employer.

“How goes it?” said Edward Henry, curtly, as they drove down to the Grand Babylon Hotel—­now Edward Henry’s regular headquarters in London.

Said Mr. Marrier: 

“I suppose you’ve seen another of ’em’s got a knighthood?”

“No,” said Edward Henry.  “Who?” He knew that by “’em” Mr. Marrier meant the great race of actor-managers.

“Gerald Pompey.  Something to do with him being a sheriff in the City, you know.  I bet you what you laike he went in for the Common Council simply in order to get even with old Pilgrim.  In fact I know he did.  And now a foundation-stone-laying has dan it.”

“A foundation-stone-laying?”

“Yes.  The new City Guild’s building, you knaow.  Royalty—­Temple Bar business—­sheriffs—­knighthood.  There you are!”

“Oh!” said Edward Henry.  And then after a pause added:  “Pity we can’t have a foundation-stone-laying!”

“By the way, old Pilgrim’s in the deuce and all of a haole, I heah.  It’s all over the Clubs.” (In speaking of the Clubs Mr. Marrier always pronounced them with a capital letter.) “I told you he was going to sail from Tilbury on his world-tour, and have a grand embarking ceremony and seeing-off!  Just laike him!  Greatest advertiser the world ever saw!  Well, since that P. & O. boat was lost on the Goodwins, Cora Pryde has absolutely declined to sail from Tilbury.  Ab-so-lute-ly!  Swears she’ll join the steamer at Marseilles.  And Pilgrim has got to go with her, too.”

“Why?”

“Well, even Pilgrim couldn’t have a grand embarking ceremony without his leading lady!  He’s furious, I hear.”

“Why shouldn’t he go with her?”

“Why not?  Because he’s formally announced his grand embarking ceremony!  Invitations are out.  Barge from London Bridge to Tilbury, and so on!  What he wants is a good excuse for giving it up.  He’d never be able to admit that he’d had to give it up because Cora Pryde made him!  He wants to save his face.”

“Well,” said Edward Henry, absently.  “It’s a queer world.  You’ve got me a room at the Grand Bab?”

“Rather!”

“Then let’s go and have a look at the Regent first,” said Edward Henry.

No sooner had he expressed the wish than Mr. Harrier’s neck curved round through the window, and with three words to the chauffeur he had deflected the course of the taxi.

Edward Henry had an almost boyish curiosity about his edifice.  He would go and give it a glance at the oddest moments.  And just now he had a swift and violent desire to behold it.  With all speed the taxi shot down Shaftesbury Avenue and swerved to the right....