For on your ten-to-one odds that
Farrell breaks for home it's obvious that I remain and keep goal.
Now what you have to do is to make for the bank and get out some
money, while I take a swim in the tank here. After that," added
Jimmy, relapsing into frivolity, "I'll look up the Trades Directory
for a respectable firm dealing in strait-waistcoats."
Well, there is no need to tell of my chase to Biarritz; for I
arrived there only to be baulked. The porter who entered my name in
elegant script, with many flourishes, in the Hotel Visitors' Book,
informed me that the English Doctor had departed--it was four hours
ago--to catch the night express for Paris. Here was the entry--
"Dr. J. Foe, Chelsea, London." He had left no other address.
"Had he a companion?" No, none. He had passed his time in solitary
rambles: but on this, the last day, he had spent some time in writing
furiously, up to the moment of departure.
The porter moved away to clear the letter-box, which stood pretty
near the end of the table. I examined the register. Farrell's name
was not among the entries.
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