CHAPTER XXX
A JUST MAN ANGERED
When things are piled one on top of another beyond a certain height, they generally come down with a crash.
That one word “Sunday” was the last straw for Jones, sweeping away breakfast, bank and everything; coming on top of the events of the last twenty-four hours, it brought his mental complacency to ruin, ruin from which shot blazing jets of wrath.
Red rage filled him. He had been made game of, every man and everything was against him. Well, he would bite. He would strike. He would attack, careless of everything, heedless of everything.
A mesmerised looking taxi-cab, crawling along on the opposite side of the way, fortunately caught his eye.
“I’ll make hay!” cried Jones, as he rushed across the street. He stopped the cab.
“10A, Carlton House Terrace,” he cried to the driver. He got in and shut the door with a bang.
He got out at Carlton House Terrace, ran up the steps of 10A, and rang the bell.