"And what are you doing?"

"Walking with a man I should be glad to be rid of."

"All right. Here's my card. When you get into the gutter, and
nobody'll give you a hand out, let me know."

With a nod, Dengate walked off. Hilliard saw him smooth his silk hat
as he went; then, without glancing at the card, he threw it away.

The next morning was cold and wet. He lay in bed till eleven
o'clock, when the charwoman came to put his rooms in order. At
mid-day he left home, had dinner at the nearest place he knew where
a meal could be obtained on Sunday, and afterwards walked the
streets for an hour under his umbrella. The exercise did him good;
on returning he felt able to sit down by the fire, and turn over the
plates of his great book on French Cathedrals. This, at all events,
remained to him out of the wreck, and was a joy that could be
counted upon in days to come.

He hoped Narramore would keep his promise, and was not disappointed.
On the verge of dusk his friend knocked and entered.

"The blind woman was at the door below," he explained, "looking for
somebody."

"It isn't as absurd as it sounds. She does look for people--with
her ears. She knows a footstep that no one else can hear. What were
_you_ doing at Dudley yesterday?"