ould he
be but Julius's father,--that Hernando Courtney whom Dr Rippon believed
he had seen the evening before?

Here was a coil to unravel! Julius's father--the Spanish marquis that
was--supposed to be dead, but yet wandering in singular fashion about
the London streets, clearly not desiring, much less courting,
opportunities of being recognised; Julius not caring to speak of his
father, apparently ignoring his continued existence, and yet apparently
knowing enough of his movements to avoid him when he came to London by
suddenly removing "into the country" without leaving his address. What
was the meaning of so much mystery? Crime? debt? political intrigue? or,
what?

The mysterious Hernando went on his way, by the southern sweep of
Trafalgar Square and Cockspur Street, to the Haymarket, and Lefevre
followed with attention and curiosity bent on him, but yet with so
little thought of playing spy that, if Hernando had gone any other way
or had returned along the Strand, he would probably have let him go. And
as they went on, the doctor could not but note, as before, how the
object of his curiosity lingered wherever there was a press of people,
whether on the pavement or on a refuge at a crossing, and hurried on
wherever the pavement was sparsely peopled or whenever the persons
encountered were at all advanced in years. Indeed, the farther he
followed the more was his attention compelled to remark that Hernando
sharply avoided contact with the weakly, the old, and the decrepit, and
wonder why the young people of either sex whom he brushed against should
turn as if the touch of him waked suspicion and a something hostile.
Thus they traversed the Haymarket, the Criterion pavement, and, flitting
across to the Quadrant, the more popular side of Regent Street, among
pushing groups, weary stragglers, and steady pedestrians. Lefevre had a
mind to turn aside and go home when he was opposite Vigo Street, but he
was drawn on by the hope of observing something that might give him a
clue to the Courtney mystery. When Oxford Circus was reached, however,
Hernando jumped into a cab and drove rapidly off, and Lefevre returned
to his own fireside.

He sat for some time over a cigar and a grog, walking in imagination
round and round the mystery, which steadfastly refused to dissolve or to
be set aside. His own honour, and perhaps the peace of his mother and
sister, were involved in it. He was resolved to ask Julius for an
explanation a