It may have been five minutes, or ten minutes--even so long as half an hour. There is no way to determine the actual lapse of time, or consciousness, that followed her declaration. The patrolman who came up and stopped in front of them, peering hard at the dense, immobile mass that had attracted his attention for the simple reason that it wasn't there when he passed on his uptown round, couldn't have thrown any light on the question. He had no means of knowing just when it began. "Well, what's all this?" he demanded suspiciously. Jane sighed, and disengaged herself. Trotter stood up, confronting the questioner. "We're waiting for a taxi," he said. "What's this? A trunk?" inquired the officer, tapping the object with his night-stick. "It is," said Trotter. "Out of one of these houses along here?" He described a half-circle with his night-stick. "Right in front of you." "That's the Smith-Parvis house. They've got a couple of cars, my bucko. What you givin' me? Whadda you mean taxi?" "She happens not to be one of the family. The courtesy of the port is not extended to her, you see." "Hired girl?" "In a way. I say, officer, be a good fellow. Keep your eye peeled for a taxi as you go along and send it up for us. She had one ordered, but--well, you can see for yourself. It isn't here." "That's as plain as the nose on your face. I guess I'll just step up to the door and see if it's all right. Stay where you are. Looks queer to me." "Oh, it isn't necessary to inquire, officer," broke in Jane nervously. "You have my word for it that it's all right." "Oh, I have, have I? Fine! And what if them bags and things is filled with silver and God knows what? You don't--" "Go ahead and inquire," said Trotter, pressing her arm encouragingly. "Ask the butler if he didn't call a cab for Miss Emsdale,--and also ask him why in thunder it isn't here." The patrolman hesitated. "Who are you," he asked, stepping a little closer to Trotter. "I am this young lady's fiancé," said Trotter, with dignity. "Her what?" "Her steady," said Trotter. The policeman laughed,--good-naturedly, to their relief. "Oh, well, _that_ being the case," said he, and started away. "Excuse me for buttin' in." "Sure," said Trotter amiably. "If you see a taxi, old man." "Leave it to me," came back from the fog. Jane nestled close to her tall young man. His arm was about her. "Wasn't he perfectly lovely?" she murmured. "Everything is perfectly lovely," said he, vastly reassured. He had taken considerable risk with the word "fiancé." CHAPTER XIII NOT CLOUDS ALONE HAVE LININGS