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Zanti, and because if once anything were to happen his one resting-place in this wild sea of London would be swept away and he would be utterly resourceless and destitute. This last fact bit him, as he sat there in the shop, with sudden and acute sharpness. What a fool he had been, all this time, to let things slide!
I have been bewildered, I think, by all the things that have happened to me during this last year but I will never be bewildered again. Write to me from Spain and then as soon as you come back I will make amends for my wickedness. I am now and always, Your loving Peter. Mr. Zanti took the letter. "How is he?" asked Peter. "I found 'im down in Treliss. He wasn't 'appy.
Zanti and Mr. Brant... you've heard me speak of them " They came towards her. She shook hands with them, regarding them gravely. "How do you do?" There was silence. Then Mr. Zanti said "We must be goin' longer than we ought to stop we 'ave business " Peter felt rising in him a cold and surging anger at her treatment of them.
Herr Gottfried, standing in the middle of the shop, was also listening. For a moment there was an intense breathless silence. The noise from the street seemed also, for the instant, to be hushed. Very slowly, very quietly, Mr. Zanti went to the street door and opened it. A cloud of yellow fog blew into the shop. "Ze damnedest fog ..." repeated Mr.
Peter was about to follow him back into the shop when suddenly the man shook his head. "No, not to-night," he said and almost pushed him into the street. Peter, looking back, saw that he was talking to the Russian girl. But the day was not over with that. Wondering about Mr. Zanti, thinking that the boarding-house would be gloomy now after Mrs.
Zanti, after five minutes' angry pursuit, caught a reluctant and very shabby four-wheeler, and they both climbed into its cavernous depths and Peter's nose was filled with something that had leather and oranges and paper bags and whisky in it; he felt exactly as though Mr. And indeed that first vision of London, seen through the grimy windows of the cab, was terrible enough.
Zanti and even taciturn little Gottfried, there to encourage him. That had been Adventure but this ...? And then he would remember young Stephen and Clare moments even lately that she had shared with him and he would be ashamed. It was on an afternoon of furious wind and rain in early April that the inevitable occurred.
Zanti kissed Peter on both cheeks, blew out the candle, and climbed into his huge bed; soon he was snoring. But Peter could not be sure of these things because he was so very tired that he did not know whether he were standing on his head or his heels and he was asleep on his sofa and dreaming about the strangest and most confused events in less than no time at all.
Then the noises returned, for a moment the fog lifted showing houses, rising like rocks from the sea sheer about them on every side, then darkness again and the cab stopped with a jerk. "Ah, good," said Mr. Zanti, rolling his red handkerchief into a ball. "'Ere we are, my young friend Mr. Peter, after you, please."
Once two men whom Peter knew very well by sight came into the shop. They were, he believed, Russians one of them was called Oblotzky a tall, bearded fierce-looking creature who could speak no English. Then suddenly, just as Peter was thinking of finding his way home to the boarding-house, Mr. Zanti appeared.
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