earnestly, Drive like the devil, he shouted, first to Gross &
Hankey s in Regent Street, and then to the Church of St. Monica in the
Edgeware Road. Half a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!
Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do well
to follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau, the coachman
with his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under his ear, while all
the tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles. It hadn t
pulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it. I only
caught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, with
a face that a man might die for.
The Church of St. Monica, John, she cried, and half a sovereign if
you reach it in twenty minutes.
This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancing whether
I should run for it, or whether I should perch behind her landau when a
cab came through the street. The driver looked twice at such a shabby
fare, but I jumped in before he could object. The Church of St.
Monica, said I, and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty
minutes. It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and of course it was
clear enough what was in the wind.
My cabby drove fast. I don t think I ever drove faster, but the others
were there before us. The cab and the landau with their steaming horses
were in front of the door when I arrived. I paid the man and hurried
into the church. There was not a soul there save the two whom I had
followed and a surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating with
them. They were all three standing in a knot in front of the altar. I
lounged up the side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a
church. Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to
me, and Godfrey Norton came running as hard as he could towards me.
Thank God, he cried. You ll do. Come! Come!
What then? I asked.
Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won t be legal.
I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I was I
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