compact as the mechanism of the watch in my hand.

But why had I pulled out the watch? Because the manuscript of
_My Tenant_ lay in the drawer of my writing-table in the Cromwell Road,
and I was calculating how quickly a telegram would reach Trewlove with
instructions to find and forward it. Then I bethought me that the lock
was a patent one, and that I carried the key with me on my private
key-chain. Why should I not cross from Calais by the next boat and
recover my treasure? It would be the sooner in my possession. I might be
reading it again that very night in my own home and testing my discovery.
I might return with it on the morrow--that is, if I desired to return.
After all, Ambleteuse had failed me. In London, I could shut myself up
and work at white heat. In London, I should be near Cozens: a telegram
would fetch him out to South Kensington within the hour, to listen and
approve. (I had no doubt of his approval.) In London, I should renew
relations with the real Trewlove--the familiar, the absurd. I will not
swear that for the moment I thought of Trewlove at all: but he remained at
the back of my mind, and at Calais I began the process of precipitating
him (so to speak) by a telegram advertising him of my return, and
requesting that my room might be prepared.

I had missed the midday boat, and reached Dover by the later and slower
one as the June night began to descend. From Victoria I drove straight to
my club, and snatched a supper of cold meats in its half-lit dining-room.
Twenty minutes later I was in my hansom again and swiftly bowling
westward--I say 'bowling' because it is the usual word, and I was in far
too fierce a hurry to think of a better.

I had dropped back upon London in the fastest whirl of the season, and at
the hour when all the world rolls homeward from the theatres. Two hansoms
raced with mine, and red lights by the score dotted the noble slope of
Piccadilly. To the left the street-lamps flung splashes of theatrical
green on the sombre boughs of the Green Park. In one of the porticos to
the right half a dozen guests lingered for a moment and laughed together
before taking their leave. One of them stood on the topmost steps,
lighting a cigarette: he carried his silk-lined Inverness over his arm--so
sultry the night was--and the ladies wore but the slightest of wraps over
their bright frocks and jewels. One of them as we passed stepped forward,
and I saw her dismissing her br