across the pavement, saluted by half a dozen men who were pressed
against the barriers--(it was here, for the first time, that the
bewildered man noticed that the dresses seemed altogether
unfamiliar)--and up to a car of a peculiar and unknown shape,
that waited in the roadway, with a bare-headed servant, in some
strange purple livery, holding the door open.

"After you, Monsignor," said the old priest.

The other stepped in and sat down. The priest hesitated for an
instant, and then leaned forward into the car.

"You have an appointment in Dean's Yard, Monsignor, you remember.
It's important, you know. Are you too ill?"

"I can't. . . . I can't. . . ." stammered the man.

"Well, at least, we can go round that way. I think we ought, you
know. I can go in and see him for you, if you wish; and we can at
any rate leave the papers."

"Anything, anything. . . . Very well."

The priest got in instantly; the door closed; and the next
moment, through crowds, held back by the police, the great car,
with no driver visible in front through the clear-glass windows,
moved off southward.