I thought of London, yellow in the sun.

I thought of the Carlton--I suppose there are no more strawberries by this time.

And my waiter--that stiff-backed Prussian--is home in Deutschland now, I presume, marching with his regiment.

I thought of you.
At three o'clock this afternoon they came for me and I was led back to the room belonging to Inspector Bray.

When I entered, however, the inspector was not there--only Colonel Hughes, immaculate and self-possessed, as usual, gazing out the window into the cheerless stone court.