He hastily packed
his grip, and, with a last glance about the room and some seconds of
breathless listening at the door, he attached to the handle a long piece
of cord, which at some time had been tied about his trunk, and, gently
opening the window, lowered the grip into the courtyard beneath. The
light he had already extinguished, and with the conviction dwelling in
his bosom that in some way he was become accessory to a murder--that he
was a man shortly to be pursued by the police of the civilized world--he
descended the skeleton lift-shaft, picked up his grip, and passed out
under the archway into the lane at the back of Palace Mansions and St.
Andrew's Mansions.
He did not proceed in the direction which would have brought him out
into the Square, but elected to emerge through the other end. At exactly
the moment that Inspector Dunbar rushed into his vacated room, Mr.
Soames, grip in hand, was mounting to the top of a southward bound 'bus
at the corner of Parliament Street!
He was conscious of a need for reflection. He longed to sit in some
secluded spot in order to think. At present, his brain was a mere
whirligig, and all things about him seemingly danced to the same tune.
Stationary objects were become unstable in the eyes of Soames, and the
solid earth, burst free of its moorings, no longer afforded him a safe
foothold.
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