to see the latest musical comedy at Daly's, but all London, regarded
thus collectively, is far from owning motor cars, or even affording
taxicabs, so the majority of the play-goers were hurrying on foot
towards tube railways and omnibus routes. 

Still, a popular light opera could hardly fail to draw many patrons
from the upper ranks of society, and, in the crush at the main exit,
Francis Berrold Theydon, hesitating whether to walk or wait the hazard
of a cab, deemed himself fortunate when a panting commissionaire
promised to secure a taxi "in half a minute." 

Automobiles of every known variety were snorting up to the curb and
bustling off again as promptly as their users could enter and bestow
themselves in dim interiors.  Being a considerate person-- wishful also
to light a cigarette-- Theydon moved out of the way.  In so doing, he
was cannoned against by an impetuous footman, whose cry, "Your car,
sir," led him to follow the man's alert eyes. 

He saw a tall, elderly gentleman, with clean-shaven, shrewd, and
highly intelligent features, of the type which finance, or the law, or