And, for the life of him, he didn't see how he was to get away.
"If they weren't awfully sure of me, they'd have locked me up a lot more
carefully than this," he reflected. "And of course it would be hard. I
could get out of here easily enough."
He had seen a drain pipe down which, he felt sure, he could climb.
"But suppose I did," he went on, talking to himself. "I've got an idea it
would land me where I could be seen from the door--and I suppose that's
open all night. And, then if I got away from here, every policeman in this
town would know me. They'd pick me up if I tried to get out, even if I
walked."
He looked out of the window. Not so far away he could see a faint glare in
the sky. That was London. He was already in the suburban chain that ringed
the great city. This place--he did not know its name, certainly--was quite
a town in itself. And he was so close to London that there was no real open
country. One town or borough ran right into the next. The houses would grow
fewer, thinning out, but before the gap became real, the outskirts of the
next borough would be reached.
Straight in front of him, looking over the housetops, he could see the
gleam of water. It was a reservoir, he decided. Probably it constituted the
water supply for a considerable section. And then, as he looked, he saw a
flash--saw a great column of water rise in the air, and descend, like
pictures of a cloudburst.
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