“When I stand here again,” he said aloud, “I shall be a criminal—a criminal!”
He repeated the last word, as if trying thoroughly to realise its meaning.
Then he opened the door swiftly and went out on to the staircase.
Just as he was putting a hasty foot upon the first stair, a man out in the street touched his electric bell. Its thin tingling cry made Sergius start and hesitate. In the semi-twilight he waited, his hands deep in his pockets, his silk hat tilted slightly over his eyes. The porter tramped along the passage below. The hall door opened, and a deep and strong voice asked, rather anxiously and breathlessly:—
“Is Mr. Blake at home?”
“I rather think he's gone out, sir.”
“No—surely—how long ago?”
“I don't know, sir. He may be in. I'll see.”
“Do—do—quickly. If he's in, say I must see him—Mr Endover. But you know my name.”
“Yes, sir.”