A daisy by the river's
brim . . . to them a simple maroon would be nothing to write home
about, nor the sort of incident to justify telephoning for an
inquisitive police. By the mercy of Heaven, too, we encountered no
member of the Force in our flight. I suppose that constables are
rare in Soho.
"Farrell led for a couple of blocks as an American writer would put
it; dived down a side street to the right; sped like an arrow for a
couple of hundred yards; then darted around another turning, again to
the right. I put on a spurt and caught him by his fur collar.
'Look here,' I said, 'I don't hear anyone in chase. We are the
wicked fleeing, whom no man pursueth. I don't quite understand why.
Maybe sulphuretted hydrogen's their favourite perfume. They don't
use it in their bath, because . . . well, never mind. What I have to
talk at this moment is mathematics. I don't know how you reason it
out; but to me it's demonstrable that if we keep turning to the right
like this we shall find ourselves back at the door of your infernal
'Catalafina.' Inevitably,' I said, nodding at him in a way
calculated to convince.
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