g the bell, and ordered a cab. "It is lucky I remember his
address," he said to himself, "lucky too that he is as silent as an
oyster."

A little later he drove up to a house in one of the many quiet London
squares. It was quite dark, and he had pulled the collar of his coat
high up around his neck and face. No one recognised him as he entered,
but when he walked into a dimly lit room, an old man said to him: "I
knew it. You were not such a fool as to throw up the sponge."

After this Leicester talked to the old man for a long time. When he left
the house, the light of purpose was in his eyes, although, had a close
observer seen him, that observer would have said that there was also
much doubt and irresolution.

CHAPTER XVI

A GRIM JOKE

A week later Leicester was still in London. He had removed from the
little hotel to which he had at first gone, and had taken a room in one
of those old-fashioned enclosures which still remain in the heart of
London. Here he fended for himself, the room being cleaned by an old
deaf and nearly blind woman, who was glad to earn a few shillings a week
in this way. He saw no one. Throughout the day he kept in his solitary
chamber; he only went out at night, and then after the city had gone to
sleep. What was in his mind it was difficult to say.

One night after midnight he went out alone. The theatres had all emptied
themselves, and the streets, save for an occasional passer-by, were
deserted. The lights still burned, but to him it looked like a city of
the dead. The echoing footfalls which occasionally reached his ears
sounded like the steps of some ghostly visitant rather than of a being
of flesh and blood.

He presently came to the Law Courts, and walked in the direction of
Ludgate Hill. The great buildings rose up stately and grand at his side,
but they reminded him rather of a stupendous monument of the dead than
of a battle-ground where keen intellects and grave wisdom waged war.

"Justice," he thought. "What justice is there in the world? What do
either judges, or barristers, or juries care about justice? The whole
world stinks with lies and injustice and cruelty. And yet why do I prate
about these things? What is justice? Is there any such thing? What are
all our thoughts but blind gropings after a phantom?"

The moon shone clearly overhead, and the spring air was clear and sweet
even in the heart of the city; nevertheless there was a cold bite in the
wind which f