But the match went out; the footman then closed the door, and Mr Vladimir lighted his large Havana with leisurely care.
When at last he got out of the house, he saw with disgust the "confounded policeman" still standing on the pavement.
"Can he be waiting for me," thought Mr Vladimir, looking up and down for some signs of a hansom.

He saw none.

A couple of carriages waited by the curbstone, their lamps blazing steadily, the horses standing perfectly still, as if carved in stone, the coachmen sitting motionless under the big fur capes, without as much as a quiver stirring the white thongs of their big whips.

Mr Vladimir walked on, and the "confounded policeman" fell into step at his elbow.

He said nothing.