It had
been arranged that he was to report progress direct to her, and as often
as possible; but it was a very open arrangement, in which Steel had
sardonically concurred. Yet, little as there was to say, and for all his
practice with the pen, it took Langholm the best part of an hour to
write that he believed he had already obtained a most important clew,
which the police had missed in the most incredible manner, though it had
been under their noses all the time. So incredible did it appear,
however, even to himself, when written down, that Langholm decided not
to post this letter until after his interview with the Chelsea landlady.
To kill the interval, he went for his dinner to the single club to which
he still belonged. It was a Bohemian establishment off the Strand, and
its time-honored name was the best thing about it in this member's eyes.
He was soon cursing himself for coming near the place while engaged
upon his great and sacred quest. Not a "clubable" person himself, as
that epithet was understood in this its home, Langholm was not a little
surprised when half-a-dozen men (most of whom he barely knew) rose to
greet him on his appearance in the smoking-room.
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