“Do come, and take the rest with you. Fresh surroundings will incite new inspirations, and you can combine business with pleasure. Can you be ready by next Saturday?”
“Well, yes, I think so; but where do you intend going?”
“Don’t know, and don’t care a straw, as long as I get a change. We’ll run over to Paris first, and afterwards decide where shall be our next halting-place.”
“And how long do you propose being away?”
“Six months—a year, if you like.”
“I must return in a couple of months at latest, for I’ve business to attend to.”
“Very well, return whenever you please. What do you say to starting by the night mail on Saturday?”
Bob replied in the affirmative, and we ratified the agreement over a bottle of Pommery.
Later that night when I left the Club to walk home, my thoughts involuntarily wandered to the mysterious tragedy which I had discovered.
It was past one o’clock, and few people were about as I turned from Adam Street into the Strand. I was alone, and strolling along at an easy pace, passed down Drury Lane.