CHAPTER XXV
OUR FLIGHT
I got out of bed and began to examine my clothes. They were strewn aboutthe floor and on chairs. The colour of them seemed peculiar to mysenses. My frock coat, of heavy black material, with curious braidingand buttons, fascinated me. I counted the number of separate things thatmade up my complete attire. They were twenty-four in number. Idiscovered that in addition to these articles of actual wearing materialI was in the habit of carrying on my person about sixty other articles.For some reason I found these calculations very interesting. I had akind of counting mania that morning. I counted all the things I used indressing myself. I counted the number of stripes on my trousers and onmy wall-paper; I counted the number of rooms in my house, the articlesof furniture that they contained, and the number of electric lamps. Iwent into the kitchen and counted everything I could see, to theastonishment of my servants. I observed that my cook showed a faint bluestain in her eyes, but that the other servants showed no signs as yet ofthe Blue Disease. I went into my study and counted the books; I openedone of them. It was the British Pharmacopoeia. I began mechanically tocount the number of drugs it contained. I was still counting them whenthe breakfast gong sounded. I went across the hall and counted on my waythe number of sticks and hats and coats that were there. I finished upby counting the number of things on the breakfast table. Then I pickedup the newspaper. There were, by the way, one hundred and four distinctthings on my breakfast table.
The paper was full of the records of crime and of our names.
The account of the Prime Minister's statement in the House was given infull. Our names were printed in large letters, and apparently ourqualifications had been looked up, for they were mentioned, togetherwith a little biographical sketch. In a perfectly calm and observantspirit I read the closely-printed column. My eye paused for some time atan account of my personal appearance--"a small, insignificant-lookingman, with straight blue-black hair, like a Japanese doll, and an untidymoustache, speaking very deliberately and with a manner of extremeself-assurance."
Extreme self-assurance! I reflected that there might, after all, be sometruth in what the reporter said. On the night that I had spoken at theQueen's Hall meeting I had been quite self-possessed. I pursued thenarrative and smiled slightly at a description of the Russian--"aloosely-built, bearded giant, unkempt in appearance, and with hugesquare hands and pale Mongolian eyes which roll like those of a maniac."That was certainly unfair, unless the reporter had seen him at therestaurant when Sarakoff drank the champagne. I was about to continue,when a red brick suddenly landed neatly on my breakfast table, andraised the number of articles on that table to one hundred and five.
There was a tinkle of falling glass; I looked up and saw that thewindow was shattered. The muslin curtain in front of it had been torndown by the passage of the brick, and the street without was visiblefrom where I sat. A considerable crowd had gathered on the pavement.They saw me and a loud cry went up. The front door bell was ringing andthere was a sound of heavy blows that echoed through the house.
My housemaid came running into the room. She uttered a shriek as she sawthe faces beyond the window and ran out again. I heard a door at theback of the house slam suddenly.
A couple of men, decently enough dressed, were getting over the arearails with the intent of climbing in at the window. I jumped up and wentswiftly upstairs. So far I was calm. I entered Sarakoff's bedroom. Itwas in darkness. The Russian was lying motionless on the bed. I shookhim by the shoulder. It seemed impossible to rouse him, and yet inoutward appearance he seemed only lightly asleep. I redoubled my effortsand at length he opened his eyes, and his whole body, which had feltunder my hands as limp and flaccid as a pillow, suddenly seemed totighten up and become resilient.
"Get up," I said. "They're trying to break into the house. We may be indanger. We can escape by the back door through the mews."
The blows on the front door were clearly audible.
"I've been listening to it for some time," he said. "But I seemed tohave lost the knack of waking up properly."
"We have no time to waste," I said firmly.
We went quickly downstairs. Sarakoff had flung a blue dressing-gown overhis pyjamas and thrust his feet into a pair of slippers. On reaching thehall there was a loud crack and a roar of voices. In an instant theagonizing fear swept over us. We dashed to the back of the house,through the servants' quarters and out into the mews. Without pausingfor an instant we ran down the cobbled alley and emerged upon DevonshireStreet. We turned to the right, dashed across Portland Place and reachedGreat Portland Street. We ran steadily, wholly mastered by the greatfear of physical injury, and oblivious to the people around us. Wepassed the Underground Station. Our flight down the Euston Road wasextraordinary. Sarakoff was in front, his dressing-gown flying, and hispink pyjamas making a vivid area of colour in the drab street. Ifollowed a few yards in the rear, hatless, with my breath coming ingasps.
It was Sarakoff who first saw the taxi-cab. He veered suddenly into theroad and held out his arms. The cab slowed down and in a moment we wereinside it.
"Go on," shouted Sarakoff, "Drive on. Don't stop."
The driver was a man of spirit and needed no further directions. The cabjerked forward and we sped towards St. Pancras Station.
"Follow the tram lines up to Hampstead," I called out, and he nodded. Welay gasping in the back of the cab, cannoning helplessly as it swayedround corners. By the time we had reached Hampstead our fear had leftus.
The cab drew up on the Spaniard's Walk and we alighted. It was a bleakand misty morning. The road seemed deserted. A thin column of steam rosefrom the radiator of the taxi, and there was a smell of over-heatedoil.
"Sharp work that," said the driver, getting out and beating his armsacross his chest. His eyes moved over us with frank curiosity. Sarakoffshivered and drew his dressing-gown closely round him.