It would carry him along till he found something else to do.
To get away, immediately, was the main idea; he had found a door to the trap.

(The chamois-bag lay in his trunk, forgotten.) "Your breakfast is ready, sir," announced the grave butler.
So Thomas ate his chops and potatoes and toast and drank his tea, alone.
And Killigrew, blinking tears, leaned against the stout branches of the lilacs and buried his teeth in his coat-sleeve.

He was as near apoplexy as he was ever to come..