It was in the cards.
He knew. He was a true-born gambler, with all the instincts, all the
wiles, all the insight of one who courts Chance and fights it at the
same time. Such men as Robert Grand go on defying Fate to the bitter
end, but they know that there will be an end, and in the end they are
bound to lose.
This man, a lifelong tempter of Fate, had learned early in the game
that the gravest errors in the category of crime came under that
lachrymose heading, "wasted energy." Men of his stamp make it a point
never to do anything that may be safely left undone, nor are they
guilty of overlooking the act that should be performed. They think
quickly and soundly, and they act at the proper time: never too soon,
never too late.
He had an object in remaining in his rooms during the afternoon, just
as he had a purpose in venturing forth at six. That was the hour when
the streets were crowded to their capacity by restless homeward-bound
pedestrians, and the saloons, by those who paused in their haste. His
tall, slightly stooped figure moved through the hurrying throng until
he came to one of the most famous of the sporting bars.
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