A policeman stopped the east-bound stream of vehicles somewhat
suddenly at the corner of Charing Cross road; owing to the mud, the
taxi skidded a few feet beyond the line; a lamp was torn off by a
heavy wagon coming south; and a fierce argument between taxi driver
and policeman resulted in "numbers" being demanded for future
vengeance. Then Theydon took a hand in the dispute, poured oil on the
troubled waters by tipping the policeman half a crown and the driver
half a sovereign-- these sums being his private estimate of damages to
dignity and lamp-- and the journey was resumed, with a net loss, to
the person who had absolutely nothing to do with the affair, of twelve
and sixpence in money and nearly ten minutes in time.

Theydon was not rich, as shall be seen in due course, but he was
generous and impulsive. He hated the notion of any one suffering for
having done him a service, and the taxi man might reasonably be deemed
a real benefactor on that sloppy night.

So far as he was concerned, the delay of ten minutes was of no
consequence. It only meant a slightly deferred snuggling down into an
easy chair in his flat with a book and a pipe. That is how be would
have expressed himself if questioned on the point. In reality it
influenced and controlled his future in the most vital way, because,
once the cab had crossed Oxford Street and turned into the quiet
thoroughfare on which the first block of Innesmore Mansions abutted,
he passed into a new phase of existence.

The cigarette, lighted at last after the altercation, had filled the
cab with smoke to such an extent that Theydon lowered a window. At
that moment the driver was slowing down to take the corner of the even
more secluded road which contained Innesmore Mansions and the gardens