"So you come
at your own peril, my dear man; but, if you are coming--well, the
sooner the better, for I must stop at my rooms on the way."
Five minutes later I was waiting for him at the Piccadilly
entrance to the Albany. I had a reason for remaining outside.
It was the feeling--half hope, half fear--that Angus Baird might
still be on our trail--that some more immediate and less
cold-blooded way of dealing with him might result from a sudden
encounter between the money-lender and myself. I would not warn
him of his danger; but I would avert tragedy at all costs. And
when no such encounter had taken place, and Raffles and I were
fairly on our way to Willesden, that, I think, was still my
honest resolve. I would not break my word if I could help it,
but it was a comfort to feel that I could break it if I liked, on
an understood penalty. Alas! I fear my good intentions were
tainted with a devouring curiosity, and overlaid by the
fascination which goes hand in hand with horror.
I have a poignant recollection of the hour it took us to reach
the house. We walked across St. James's Park (I can see the
lights now, bright on the bridge and blurred in the water), and
we had some minutes to wait for the last train to Willesden. It
left at 11.21, I remember, and Raffles was put out to find it did
not go on to Kensal Rise.
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