Half an hour at Normandale Grange--a journey to London--a
couple of hours in the City--and then the next train to the Continent,
on his way to regions much further off. Here, things had turned out
badly, unexpectedly badly--but he would carry away considerable, easily
transported wealth, to a new career in a new country.
Pratt began his flight in methodical fashion. He locked up his office,
and left the building by a back entrance which took him into a network
of courts and alleys at the rear of the business part of Barford. He
made his way in and out of these places until he reached a
bicycle-dealer's shop in an obscure street, whereat he had left a
machine of his own on the previous evening under the excuse of having it
thoroughly cleaned and oiled. It was all ready for him on his arrival,
and he presently mounted it and rode away through the outskirts of the
town, carefully choosing the less frequented streets and roads. He rode
on until he was clear of Barford: until, in fact, he was some miles from
it, and had reached a village which was certainly not on the way to
Normandale. And then, at the post-office he dismounted, and going
inside, wrote out and dispatched a telegram. It was a brief message
containing but three words--"One as usual"--and it was addressed Esther
Mawson, The Grange, Normandale. This done, he remounted his bicycle,
rode out of the village, and turned across country in quite a different
direction.
Pages:
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263