I wished to be done in this matter. And as I sealed up the letter (force of habit, I suppose) I thought that it was lucky Rosy's letter had come in this way. Perhaps I should not have been doing this if it hadn't.
Luck favoured me again: I lit upon a hansom at the end of the street. I told the man to drive up the Edgware Road, and I would tell him where to stop. The gas-lamps burned faintly. There was a hush in the place, broken every now and then by distant sounds of stirring life. We were going quickly. I sat thinking. We were almost at the turning that has to be taken for Maitland Street. I thrust my hand out and waved. We came up a little, as it were, sideways to the pavement. I got out. How much should I give the man?
I stood with two fingers in my waistcoat-pocket, considering a sovereign and an order to wait here for me. Then I determined no; and took out some silver, and gave him five shillings.
I went on alone to the corner of the turn that was to be taken for Maitland Street, and crossed over into the deeper shadow of the other side. The horse was wheeling round: the cab drove away with sounding hoof-strokes. I went on, but rather slowly. Then an idea came into my head to run as far as the corner of Maitland Street. I set off: came to the lamp-post: crossed over; knocked with strong knuckles at the door, and waited.
No sound.
I knocked again as before, but for longer. I listened. No sound. I knocked a third time. Nothing. This was foolery!
I went into the road, and bent down to pick up something to throw. There was nothing of the sort there.
I gave up an idea of thrusting my finger down between the stone-blocks, to jerk out problematical pebbles, and went into Hill Street, and set about searching for something to throw. I could find nothing. I went on looking in the road, in the hope of seeing a mended place, whence I could take gravel. At last I found one, and picked up some.
I returned. There was no sign of life in the house: no sign of life anywhere here apparently. Her head
