Penelope tapped sharply at Nan’s bedroom door.

“Nan, are you ready?  Your taxi’s waiting outside.”

“Ticking tuppences away like the very dickens, too!” returned Nan, emerging from her room dressed for a journey.

It was a week or two later and in response to a wire—­and as the result of a good deal of persuasion on the part of Penelope—­Nan had accepted an engagement to play at a big charity concert in Exeter.  Lady Chatterton, the organiser of the concert, had offered to put her up for the couple of nights involved, and Nan was now hurrying to catch the Paddington West-country train.

“I’ve induced the taxi-driver to come up and carry down your baggage,” pursued Penelope.  “You’ll have to look fairly sharp if you’re to catch the one-fifty.”

“I must catch it,” declared Nan.  “Why, the Chattertons are fourteen miles from Abbencombe Station and it would be simply ghastly if they sent all that way to meet me—­and there was no me!  Besides, there’s a rehearsal fixed for ten o’clock to-morrow morning.”

While she spoke, the two girls were making their way down the circular flight of stone steps—­since the lift was temporarily out of order—­preceded by the driver grumblingly carrying Nan’s suit-case and hat-box.  A minute or two later the taxi emitted a grunt from somewhere within the depths of its being and Nan was off, with Penelope’s cheery “Good luck!” ringing in her ears.

She sat back against the cushions and gasped a sigh of relief.  She had run it rather close, but now, glancing down at her wrist-watch, she realised that, failing a block in the traffic, she would catch her train fairly easily.

It was after they had entered the Park that the first contre-temps occurred.  The taxi jibbed and came abruptly to a standstill.  Nan let down the window and leaned out.

“What’s the matter?” she asked with some anxiety.

The driver, descending leisurely from his seat, regarded her with a complete lack of interest.

“That’s just w’ot I’m goin’ to find out,” he replied in a detached way.

Nan watched him while he poked indifferently about the engine, then sank back into her seat with a murmur of relief as he at last climbed once more into his place behind the wheel and the taxi got going again.

But almost before two minutes had elapsed there came another halt, followed by another lengthy examination of the engine’s internals.  Engine trouble spelt disaster, and Nan hopped out and joined the driver in the road.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.  She looked down anxiously at her wrist-watch.  “I shall miss my train at this rate.”

“I cawn’t ’elp it if you do,” returned the man surlily.  He was one of the many drivers who had taken advantage of a long-suffering public during the war-time scarcity of taxi-cabs and he hoped to continue the process during the peace.  Incivility had become a confirmed habit with him.