The chauffeur of the taxicab now added himself to their little group. He said that he did not know about Mr. Braddock’s plans, but that he himself was desirous of getting to bed. Mr. Braddock patted him on the shoulder with radiant bonhomie. “This,” he explained to Sam, “is a most delightful chap. I’ve forgotten his name.” The cabman said his name was Evans. “Evans! Of course. I knew it was something beginning with a G. This is my friend Evans, Sam. I forget where we met, but he’s taking me home.” “Where do you live, Bradder?” “Where do I live, Evans?” “Down at Valley Fields, you told me,” said the cabman. “Where are you living, Sam?” “Nowhere.” “How do you mean--nowhere?” “I have no home,” said Sam with simple pathos. “I’d like to dig you one,” said the man in uniform. “No home?” cried Mr. Braddock, deeply moved. “Nowhere to sleep to-night, do you mean? I say, look here, you must absolutely come back with me. Evans, old chap, do you think there would be room for one more in that cab of yours? Because I particularly want this gentleman to come back with me. My dear old Sam, I won’t listen to any argument.” “You won’t have to.” “You can sleep on the sofa in the drawing-room. You ready, Evans, old man? Splendid! Then let’s go.” From Lupus Street, Pimlico, to Burberry Road, Valley Fields, is a distance of several miles, but to Sam the drive seemed a short one. This illusion was not due so much to the gripping nature of Mr. Braddock’s conversation, though that rippled on continuously, as to the fact that, being a trifle weary after his experiences of the night, he dozed off shortly after they had crossed the river. He awoke to find that the cab had come to a standstill outside a wooden gate which led by a short gravel path to a stucco-covered house. A street lamp, shining feebly, was strong enough to light up the name San Rafael. Mr. Braddock paid the cabman and ushered Sam through the gate. He produced a key after a little searching, and having mounted the steps opened the door. Sam found himself in a small hall, dimly lighted by a turned-down jet of gas. “Go right in,” said Mr. Braddock. “I’ll be back in a moment. Got to see a man.” “Got to what?” said Sam, surprised. “Got to see a man for a minute. Fellow named Evans, who was at school with me. Most important.” And with that curious snipelike abruptness which characterised his movements to-night, Willoughby Braddock slammed the front door violently and disappeared. Sam’s feelings, as the result of his host’s impulsive departure, were somewhat mixed. To the credit side of the ledger he could place the fact that he was safely under the shelter of a roof, which he had not expected to be an hour ago; but he wished that, before leaving, his friend had given him a clew as to where was situated this drawing-room with its sofa whereon he was to spend the remainder of the night.