He was dazed with the suddenness
of it all. How could such a thing happen in the midst of London,
in a thoroughfare only momentarily deserted, at the further end
of which, indeed, were many signs of life! Then the thought of
that knife made him shiver--blue glittering steel cutting the air
like whipcord. He remembered the look in the assassin's face--
horrible, an epitome of the passions, which seemed to reveal to
him in that moment the existence of some other, some unknown
world, about which he had neither read nor dreamed.
The sound of footsteps came as an immense relief. A man came
round the corner, smoking a cigarette and humming softly to
himself. The presence of another human being seemed suddenly to
bring Tavernake's feet back upon the earth. He moved toward the
pavement and addressed the newcomer.
"Can you tell me how to get inside that house?" he asked quickly.
The man removed the cigarette from his mouth and stared at his
questioner.
"I should ring the bell," he replied, "but surely it's
unoccupied? What do you want to get in there for?"
"Less than a minute ago," Tavernake told him, "I was walking here
with a friend. A man came up behind us and tried deliberately to
stab him. He bolted afterwards through that door, my friend
followed him, the door was closed in my face."
The newcomer was a youngish man, a musician, who had just come
from a concert and was on his way to the club at the end of the
street.
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