I did not stay long. The night was fine and clear as I walked back to the flat I

had hired near Portland Place. The crowd surged past me on the pavements, busy

and chattering, and I envied the people for having something to do. These

shop-girls and clerks and dandies and policemen had some interest in life that

kept them going. I gave half-a-crown to a beggar because I saw him yawn; he was

a fellow-sufferer. At Oxford Circus I looked up into the spring sky and I made a

vow. I would give the Old Country another day to fit me into something; if

nothing happened, I would take the next boat for the Cape.

 

My flat was the first floor in a new block behind Langham Place. There was a

common staircase, with a porter and a liftman at the entrance, but there was no

restaurant or anything of that sort, and each flat was quite shut off from the

others. I hate servants on the premises, so I had a fellow to look after me who

came in by the day. He arrived before eight o’clock every morning and used to

depart at seven, for I never dined at home.

 

I was just fitting my key into the door when I noticed a man at my elbow. I had

not seen him approach, and the sudden appearance made me start. He was a slim

man, with a short brown beard and small, gimlety blue eyes. I recognized him as

the occupant of a flat on the top floor, with whom I had passed the time of day

on the stairs.

 

“Can I speak to you?” he said. “May I come in for a minute?” He was steadying

his voice with an effort, and his hand was pawing my arm.