“Who, me? I scare you?” He asked. He paid the cab, and turned to follow her. “No, she just worries that I’ll go Satanic and start chomping the heads off of bats and mice or something. Ascertaining that it was Sheppard of whom this concourse was in pursuit, the two horsemen leapt the hedge, and were presently close upon him. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance.
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