With a pleasant feeling that things were working for the best, I got up again; and hoisting the Gladstone bag on to the bed began to collect the books, the tooth-brush, and the few other articles which made up my present earthly possessions.
CHAPTER VIII
RT. HON. SIR GEORGE FRINTON, P.C.
That journey of mine to London stands out in my memory with extraordinary vividness. I don't think I shall ever forget the smallest and most unimportant detail of it. The truth is, I suppose, that my whole mind and senses were in an acutely impressionable state after lying fallow, as they practically had, for over three years. Besides, the sheer pleasure of being out in the world again seemed to invest everything with an amazing interest and wonder.
It was just half-past one when Savaroff brought the car round to the front door. I was standing in the hall talking to McMurtrie, who had decided not to accompany us into Plymouth. Of Sonia I had seen nothing since our unfortunately interrupted interview in the morning.
"Well," said the doctor, as with a grinding of brakes the car pulled up outside, "we can look on this as the real beginning of our little enterprise."
I picked up my Gladstone. "Let's hope," I said, "that the end will be equally satisfactory."
McMurtrie nodded. "I fancy," he said, "that we need have no apprehensions. Providence is with us, Mr. Lyndon—Providence or some equally effective power."
There was a note of irony in his voice which left one in no doubt as to his own private opinion of our guiding agency.
I stepped out into the drive carrying my bag. Savaroff, who was sitting in the driving seat of the car, turned half round towards me.