The railway guide, after
showing me how soon I could leave Stallbridge and how
quickly I could reach Paris, failed to hold my
attention. An illustrated advertisement-book of hotels
brought me very low indeed; and when it came to the
local paper, I could have wept. At this point I found
a passing solace in a copy of Whitaker's Almanack, and
obtained in fifty minutes more information than I have
yet been able to use.
Then a fresh apprehension assailed me. Suppose
Bellairs had given me the slip? Suppose he was now
rolling on the road to Stallbridge-le-Carthew? or
perhaps there already and laying before a very white-
faced auditor his threats and propositions? A hasty
person might have instantly pursued. Whatever I am, I
am not hasty, and I was aware of three grave
objections. In the first place, I could not be certain
that Bellairs was gone. In the second, I had no taste
whatever for a long drive at that hour of the night and
in so merciless a rain. In the third, I had no idea
how I was to get admitted if I went, and no idea what I
should say if I got admitted.
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