After burning out this hell of thought in his miserable brain, he betook himself to natureʼs remedy,—instant, headlong action. He rushed down the stairs, forgetting all about Chope and Bailey Kettledrum, shouted to the driver of a hansom cab so that he sawed his horseʼs mouth raw, leaped in, and gave him half a sovereign through the pigeon–hole, to get to D——ʼs bank before the closing time. But at Temple Bar, of course, there was a regular Chubbʼs lock, after a minor Bramah one at the bottom of Ludgate Hill. Cabby was forced to cut it, and slash up Chancery Lane, and across by Kingʼs College Hospital, and back into the Strand by Wych Street. It is easy to imagine Bull Garnetʼs state of mind; yet the imagination would be that, and nothing more. He sat quite calmly, without a word, knowing that man and horse were doing their utmost of skill and speed, and having dealt enough with both to know that to worry them then is waste. The Bank had been closed, the day–porter said, as he girded himself for his walk to Brixton, exactly—let him see—yes, exactly one minute and thirty–five seconds ago. Most of the gentlemen were still inside, of course, and if the gentlemanʼs business was of a confidential——Here he intimated, not by words, that there were considerations—— “Bow Street police–office,” Mr. Garnet cried to the driver, not even glancing again at the disappointed doorkeeper. In five minutes he was there. Man and horse seemed strung and nerved with his own excitement. A stolid policeman stood at the door, as Bull Garnet leaped out anyhow, with his high colour gone away as in death, and his wiry legs cramped with vehemence. Then Bobby saw that he had met his master, the perception being a mental feat far beyond the average leap of police agility. Accordingly he touched his hat, and crinkled his eyes in a manner discovered by policemen, in consequence of the suggestion afforded by the pegging of their hats. “Mr. Bennings gone?” asked Bull Garnet, pushing towards the entrance. “His wusship is gone arf an hour, sir; or may be at most fifty minutes. Can we do anything for you, sir? His wusship always go according to the business as is on.” “Thank you,” replied Mr. Garnet; “that is quite enough. What time do they leave at Marlborough Street?” “According to the business, sir, but gone afore us aʼmost always. We sits as long as anybody, and gets through twice the business. But any message you like to leave, or anything to be entered, I can take the responsibility.” “No. It does not matter. I will only leave my card. Mr. Bennings knows me. Be kind enough to give him this, when he comes to–morrow morning. Perhaps I may call to–morrow. At present I cannot say.”