The man glanced at the chart.
"Number seven, on the other side," he replied. "You can drive around."
"How is she for time?"
"She crossed the North Sea punctually," he replied. "We should see her
violet lights in ten minutes. Mind the traffic as you pass number three.
The North ship from Norway is just in."
Nigel addressed a word of caution to the chauffeur, and they drove on.
From the first shed they passed a stream of vehicles was pouring
out,--porters with luggage, jostling throngs of newly arrived passengers
on their way to the Electric Underground. They drove into number seven
shed, left the car, and walked to the end of the long platform. The
great arc of glass-covered roof above them was brilliantly illuminated,
throwing a queer downward light upon the long line of waiting porters,
the refreshment rooms, the kiosks and newspaper stalls. In the far end,
a huge airship, bound for the East, was already filling up. Maggie and
her companion stood for a few minutes gazing into the huge void of
space.
"Tell me about Naida," the former begged, a little abruptly.
"Naida is a wonderful woman," Nigel declared enthusiastically. "We
lunched at Ciro's. She wore a black and white muslin gown which arrived
this morning from Paris. Afterwards we went down to Ranelagh and sat
under the trees."
"Throwing yourself thoroughly into your little job, aren't you!" Maggie
sniffed.
"You'll have a chance to catch me up before long," he replied.
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