iderate, so fond of her husband, and he of her, as
everyone thought. And yet, to put the doctor's opinion on one side, I
knew what I had seen. And then, after thinking it all over and putting
one thing with another, it seemed to me that the only person likely to
give me much assistance would be Black himself, and I made up my mind
to find him. Of course he wasn't to be found in Harlesden; he had left,
I was told, directly after the funeral. Everything in the house had
been sold, and one fine day Black got into the train with a small
portmanteau, and went nobody knew where. It was a chance if he were
ever heard of again, and it was by a mere chance that I came across him
at last. I was walking one day along Gray's Inn Road, not bound for
anywhere in particular, but looking about me, as usual, and holding on
to my hat, for it was a gusty day in early March, and the wind was
making the tree-tops in the Inn rock and quiver. I had come up from the
Holborn end, and I had almost got to Theobald's Road, when I noticed a
man walking in front of me, leaning on a stick and to all appearance
very feeble. There was something about his look that made me curious, I
don't know why; and I began to walk briskly, with the idea of
overtaking him, when of a sudden his hat blew off, and came bounding
along the pavement to my feet. Of course I rescued the hat, and gave it
a glance as I went towards its owner. It was a biography in itself; a
Piccadilly maker's name in the inside, but I don't think a beggar would
have picked it out of the gutter. Then I looked up, and saw Dr. Black
of Harlesden waiting for me. A queer thing, wasn't it? But, Salisbury,
what a change! When I saw Dr. Black come down the steps of his house at
Harlesden, he was an upright man, walking firmly with well-built limbs;
a man, I should say, in the prime of his life. And now before me there
crouched this wretched creature, bent and feeble, with shrunken cheeks,
and hair that was whitening fast, and limbs that trembled and shook
together, and misery in his eyes. He thanked me for bringing him his
hat, saying, 'I don't think I should ever have got it, I can't run much
now. A gusty day, sir, isn't it?' and with this he was turning away;
but by little and little I contrived to draw him into the current of
conversation, and we walked together eastward. I think the man would
have been glad to get rid of me, but I didn't intend to let him go, and
he stopped at last in front of a mi