The stranger, after Fenton had gone, began to feel that it was
impossible either to wheedle or extort any information whatsoever,
whether of importance or otherwise, from that extraordinary and not very
sane individual. That, however, there was a deep mystery about him,
be it what it might, he could not, for a moment, doubt; and, for this
reason, he resolved by no means to relax his exertions, or suffer
Fenton, if he could fairly prevent it, to slip through his fingers.
His unaccountable conduct and terror, during, as well as after, his own
angry altercation with the baronet, went, in his opinion, strongly to
connect him, in some manner, with that unscrupulous man. But how to
develop the nature of this connection constituted the very difficulty
which not only disappointed but mortified him.

"I will call upon Birney," thought he; "he is acute and sensible, and
probably, from his greater experience of life, will be able to throw
out some hint that may be valuable, and enable me to proceed with more
effect."

We have already said, that it was somewhat difficult to commonplace
observers to determine his (the stranger's) exact position in society
by a first glance at his dress. This ambiguity of appearance, if, after
all, it could properly be called so, was assumed for the express purpose
of avoiding observation as much as possible. The fact, however, of
finding that his desire to remain unnoticed had been not merely observed
and commented on, but imputed to him almost as a crime, determined
him no longer to lie _perdu_ in his inn, but to go abroad, and appear in
public like another; whilst, at the same time, his resolution remained
fixed as ever, for various reasons, to conceal his name. The moment,
therefore, he had made up his mind to this course, that assumed
restraint of manner and consciousness of not being what we appear to be