“There you are,” cried Peace, handing the driver half-a-crown. “Now I am within a dozen doors of my own home.”
The cabman took the proffered coin and drove off.
Peace went up Fetter-lane, and looked to the right and left, but no one was visible.
He waited till the noise of wheels had passed away, and then he went back to the corner of the lane.
If he could reach his lodgings in Leather-lane without attracting attention all would be well. How to complete this he had not at that moment determined.
Should a chance policeman be in Holborn, or in any of the adjacent streets, a man without a coat and at that hour in the morning would be sure to attract his attention and excite suspicion.
Peace had been wonderfully successful thus far, but there was no telling what might follow; whether he had better walk leisurely along or make a bolt of it, he could not for the moment determine.
At length, after a little reflection, he thought it would be best to adopt the former alternative; he therefore crossed Holborn in a quiet, easy, self-confident manner.
A half inebriated pedestrian, who was reeling homewards, called out——
“Halloa, governor, taking a moonlight airing?”