The porter looked at him incredulously. “Rang you up? ’Oo rang you up? First I’ve ’eard of it.”

Mr. Tovey clicked his tongue impatiently. “Why, not more than a quarter of an hour ago,” he replied. “Man been run over, and you couldn’t find out who he was.”

“We ain’t ’ad no accidents brought in the ’ole blessed day,” returned the porter stolidly. “You’ve made a bloomer, you ’ave. Wait ’ere a moment while I goes and sees if anybody knows anything about it. Tobey, did you say your name was?”

“Tovey!” replied that individual angrily. The porter turned his back upon him and disappeared, his boots clattering noisily upon the tiled floor. Mr. Tovey, with a sudden reaction from his excited imaginings, stood cold and miserable in the centre of a puddle formed by the drops from his overcoat.