"'Forty-seven, Orange Grove, Clapham,' she said. 'Hoffman is the
name. You'll easily waken the servants.'

"'And how about the fare?' I suggested, for I thought maybe there
might be a difficulty in collecting it at the end of the journey.

"'Here it is,' said the young one, slipping what I felt to be a
sovereign into my hand, and at the same time giving it a sort of a
grateful squeeze, which made me feel as if I'd drive anywhere to
get her out of trouble.

"Well, off I went, leaving them standing by the side of the road.
The horse was well-nigh beat, but at last I found my way to 47,
Orange Grove. It was a biggish house, and all quiet, as you may
suppose, at that hour. I rang the bell, and at last down came a
servant--a man, he was.

"'I've got the master here,' I said.

"'Got who?' he asked.

"'Why Mr. Hoffman--your master. He's in the cab, not quite
himself. This is number forty-seven, ain't it?'

"'Yes, it's forty-seven, right enough; but my master's Captain
Ritchie, and he's away in India, so you've got the wrong house.'

"'That was the number they gave me,' I said, 'But maybe he's come to
himself by this time, and can give us some information. He was dead
drunk an hour ago.'