Crisp's attitude been entirely devoid of cordiality? Had not? It was all over. He had been a fool to come back to London. He should have turned resolutely to the open road, and have tried to forget her. It was all due to that idiotic something in him that he had never been able quite to analyse nor understand. Anyway, it was too late now. After all, what did it matter?
He walked on aimlessly, following the path of the least resistance. When at last he looked about, he found himself in unaccustomed surroundings. On asking where he was of a tired little man in a still more weary-looking frock-coat, he was told Pimlico. The man regarded him curiously, as if to be in Pimlico without knowing it were unusual. It seemed to take Beresford quite a long time to disembarrass himself of Pimlico, and to reach a spot near Victoria Station where he found an empty taxi.
Late into that night he sat, before him a sheet of paper on which were written a few figures. He was face to face with a problem—THE problem. There was still a week or two left, however, he decided, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and prepared for bed.
