She was blazing with eagerness to see one of those already celebrated
murderers, and she started on the errand at once. I slipped out
the back way, locked the door behind me, put the key in my pocket
and started off, chuckling to myself and comfortable.
Well, I had gone and spoiled it again, made another mistake.
A double one, in fact. There were plenty of ways to get rid of
that officer by some simple and plausible device, but no, I must
pick out a picturesque one; it is the crying defect of my character.
And then, I had ordered my procedure upon what the officer, being
human, would _naturally_ do; whereas when you are least expecting it,
a man will now and then go and do the very thing which it's _not_
natural for him to do. The natural thing for the officer to do,
in this case, was to follow straight on my heels; he would find
a stout oaken door, securely locked, between him and me; before
he could break it down, I should be far away and engaged in slipping
into a succession of baffling disguises which would soon get me
into a sort of raiment which was a surer protection from meddling
law-dogs in Britain than any amount of mere innocence and purity
of character.
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