It was there, of
course, that Herman was to place the bomb. She knew how he would
do it, carefully, methodically, and with what a lumbering awkward
gait he would make his escape.
Her whole mind was bent on giving the alarm. On escaping, first,
and then on arousing the plant. But when the voices below continued,
long after Herman had gone, she was entirely desperate. Herman had
not carried out the suit-case. He had looked, indeed, much as usual
as he walked out the garden path and closed the gate behind him. He
had walked rather slowly, but then he always walked slowly. She
seemed to see, however, a new caution in his gait, as of one who
dreaded to stumble.
She dressed herself, with shaking fingers, and pinned on her hat.
The voices still went on below, monotonous, endless; the rasping of
Rudolph's throat, irritated by cheap cigarets, the sound of glasses
on the table, once a laugh, guttural and mirthless. It was ten
o'clock when she knew, by the pushing back of their chairs, that
they were preparing to depart.
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