'Promise that to-night you'll take your own?'
She sat down again, and was as nice as she could be; he only knew how nice that was. He would have been as happy as is possible if it had not been for the thoughts which were at the back of his head, and the prospect which lay in front of him.
Unfortunately, nearly all the time Miss Broad was causing him to realise his good fortune in winning the love of such a girl as she was he was picturing himself stealing up a flight of darkened stairs, like a thief.
One o'clock was the hour suggested by Miss Casata. Twenty times before that hour arrived he told himself that he had better return to Africa--ghosts or no ghosts--than do this thing. It seemed to him that dishonour hedged him round about; that whichever way he went he would find himself among the thorns. If he did this thing he would break his plighted word; quite possibly lose his love and his fortune too. If he did the other he might quite possibly find himself up to the neck in a slough of misunderstandings--to speak of nothing worse--from which he could never emerge as clean as he went in. The choice was a pleasant one. Yet he never hesitated as to which horn of the dilemma he would thrust himself on. Although very much against his will, he was set on burglary. And, being once resolved, set about the business, to all outward appearances, as calmly as if such incidents were the mere trivialities of his nightly life.
At a quarter after midnight he started to stroll from Charing Cross. At the half hour he was sauntering in the Westminster Abbey Gardens. He glanced along Victoria Street as far as he could see. An occasional omnibus came rumbling along. Cabs flitted to and fro; sometimes carriages. But foot passengers were few and far between. And, so far as could be seen from the street, the buildings on either side of the way were in darkness.
He strolled gently on, swinging his stick, smoking a cigar, as any other gentleman might have done who enjoyed the cool night air. Under a lamp-post stood a policeman. Mr Holland smiled.
He bestowed on him a genial salutation, which the other returned in kind.
He seemed rather a youngish man, well set up, with broad shoulders and a shrewd face. Mr Holland wondered if he should have any professional intercourse with him before the night was over. He laughed to himself as he thought of it. When he had gone some distance further he stopped and turned. The constable had vanished. Presumably his duty had led him down one of the side streets. An omnibus was coming in one direction, a couple of cabs in the other. Miss Bewicke's rooms were close at hand. Should he let the vehicles pass before he came to business? It was not yet one. He hesitated, then walked slowly past the house, noticing as he went that the front door was closed. What did it mean? Was he supposed to knock, calling upon the porter to let him in? The notion was absurd. Perhaps Miss Casata had only been playing with him after all.