Clearly
something big was on foot. They were just like so many sphinxes,
and went straight to the carriage that waited at the Mulberry Street
door. I do not know how it ever entered my head; perhaps it didn't
at all, but was just done mechanically. The wind had blown out the
lamp on the steps, and the street was in profound darkness. As they
stepped into the carriage, I, with only the notion in my head that
here was news which must be got somehow, went in last and sank down
in the vacant seat, pulling the door to after me. The carriage went
on. To my intense relief, it rounded the corner. I was undiscovered!
But at that moment it came to a sudden stop. An invisible hand opened
the door, and, grasping my collar, gently but firmly propelled me
into the street and dropped me there. Then the carriage went on.
Not a word had been spoken. They understood and so did I. It was
enough.
[Illustration: The carriage went on]
But, as I said, I had my revenge. It came when the opposition
reporters, believing the mystery to be near its solution, [Footnote:
This was, as nearly as I remember, in the autumn of 1879, the year
following the robbery] entered into a conspiracy to forestall it
and deliberately invented the lines of the coming denouement.
Pages:
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251