Dudley was mad. But if he could have seen Dudley now, with the wild look
in his eyes, could have noted the restless movements of his hands, the
twitching of his face, the impatience with which he now leaned forward,
now back, as if alternately urging the horse forward and holding him
back, Max would have felt bound to admit that the case for the young
barrister's insanity was very strong.

As soon as the hansom began to thread the narrow streets which lie
between Commercial Road and the riverside, Dudley sprang out, paid the
man his fare, and walked off at a rapid pace. It was a frosty night, and
the ill-clad women who shuffled past him looked pinched and miserable.
Even they, with cares enough of their own on their shoulders, turned to
look at him as he passed. There was a glare in his black eyes, an
uncanny something in his walk, in his look, which made them watch him
and wonder who he was, and where he was going to.

But by the time he had reached the riverside street to which his steps
were directed, even a chance passer-by was a rarity; and the gas-lamps
had become so few and far between that no notice would have been taken
of him if the traffic had been greater.

His footsteps echoed in the silent street until he reached the wooden
door which was the entrance by night to Plumtree Wharf.

The door was shut, and Dudley, apparently surprised by the circumstance,
gave it an impatient shake. Then he heard a slight sound within which
told him of the approach of some living creature, and the next moment
the door was opened a few inches, and the face of Mrs. Higgs appeared at
the aperture.