He went down
them, staggering a little as if dizzy, and tried to walk towards the
Avenue. Presently he ran into something. "Clumsy," said a lady's voice.
"I beg your pardon," said Peter mechanically. A moment later he ran into
something again. "I beg your pardon," said Peter, and two well-dressed
girls laughed to see a bareheaded man apologize to a lamp-post. He
walked on once more, but had not gone ten paces when a hand was rested
on his shoulder.
"Now then, my beauty," said a voice. "You want to get a cab, or I shall
have to run you in. Where do you want to go?"
"I beg your pardon," said Peter.
"Come," said the policeman shaking him, "where do you belong? My God!
It's Mr. Stirling. Why, sir. What's the matter?"
"I think I've killed her," said Peter.
"He's awfully screwed," ejaculated the policeman. "And him of all men!
Nobody shall know." He hailed a passing cab, and put Peter into it. Then
he gave Peter's office address, and also got in. He was fined the next
day for being off his beat "without adequate reasons," but he never told
where he had been.
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