“Wilderling?” I could not remember for the moment the name.
“Yes—the old josser I live with. Fine old man—got a point of view of his own!”
“Delighted,” I said.
“To-morrow. Eight o’clock. Don’t dress.”
He was just going off when he turned again.
“Awfully glad you’re better,” he said. He cleared his throat, looked at me in a very friendly way, then smiled.
“Awfully glad you’re better,” he repeated, then went off, rolling his broad figure into the evening mist.
I turned towards home.
XVIII
I arrived at the Baron’s punctually at eight o’clock. His flat was in a small side street off the English Quay. I paused for a moment, before turning into its dark recesses, to gather in the vast expanse of the frozen river and the long white quay. It was as though I had found my way behind a towering wall that now closed me in with a smile of contemptuous derision. There was no sound in the shining air and the only figure was a guard who moved monotonously up and down outside the Winter Palace.