He thought of going this afternoon, and looked at his watch. There would be a train from Waterloo in half an hour. Just time to finish his strawberries and catch it. That picture would look well when he had cleaned it. He took up the paper again. It must have been a fine sight last night at Covent Garden. And what a list of singers. Gimblet, who loved music, wished he had been there. “The Verterexes might have asked me to their box,” he said to himself. “Life is full of ingratitude. After all I did for them.”
And then it struck him that he had not done much for the Verterexes after all, beyond nearly arresting Mr. Verterex by mistake for a murder he had not committed.
Gimblet laughed.
Then his thoughts reverted lazily to the pleasures of loafing.
“I think I shall give up work,” he said to himself. “Why not? I have enough money put by to keep me, with economy, in moderate comfort. Not quite so many strawberries perhaps,” he added regretfully, taking another mouthful, “but what I want is leisure. Yes. I am decided I will do no more work. Let the police catch its own burglars!”
He spoke aloud, and defiantly, addressing himself to the picture.
At that moment his servant came into the room.
“A gentleman very anxious to see you, sir,” he said. “I have shown him into the library.”
“Ask him to come in here if he’s in a hurry,” said Gimblet. “I haven’t finished lunch.”