h
the gentleman who was made known to me at your mother's house by the
name of Courtney, you may have heard by now the rights of the case. If
you have any news, I shall be glad to share it with you."_

Considering this in association with the absence of Julius, Lefevre
found his wits becoming involved in a puzzle. He could not settle to
work, so he put on overcoat and hat, and sallied out again. He had no
fixed purpose: he only felt the necessity of motion to resolve himself
back into his normal calm. The air was keen from the east. May, which
had opened with such wanton warmth and seductiveness, turned a cold
shoulder on the world as she took herself off. It was long since he had
indulged in an evening walk in the lamp-lit streets, so he stepped out
eastward against the shrewd wind. Insensibly his attention forsook the
busy and anxious present, and slipped back to the days of golden and
romantic youth, when the crowded nocturnal streets were full of the
mystery of life. He recalled the sensations of those days--the sharp
doubts of self, the frequent strong desires to drink deep of all that
life had to offer, and the painful recoils from temptation, which he
felt would ruin, if yielded to, his hope of himself, and his ambition of
filling a worthy place among men.

Thus musing, he walked on, taking, without noting it, the most
frequented turnings, and soon he found himself in the Strand. It was
that middle time of evening, after the theatres and restaurants have
sucked in their crowds, when the frequenters of the streets have some
reserve in their vivacity, before reckless roisterers have begun to
taste the lees of pleasure, and to shout and jostle on the pavements. He
was walking on the side of the way next the river, when, near the
Adelphi, he became aware of a man before him, wearing a slouch-hat and a
greatcoat--a man who appeared to choose the densest part of the throng,
to prefer to be rubbed against and hustled rather than not. There was
something about the man which held Lefevre's attention and roused his
curiosity--something in the swing of his gait and the set of his
shoulders. The man, too, seemed urged on by a singular haste, which
permitted him to be the slowest and easiest of passengers in the thick
of the crowd, but carried him swiftly over the less frequented parts of
the pavement. The doctor began to wonder if he was a pickpocket, and to
look about for the watchful eye of a policeman. He kept close behi