increased. The thought that two men so absurdly alike could
inhabit the same, city and remain unknown to each other faced
him as a problem: it tangled with his personal worries and
aggravated them. There seemed to be almost a danger in such
an extraordinary likeness. He began to regret his impetuosity
in thrusting his card upon the man. Then, again, how he had
let himself go on the subject of Lexington! How narrowly he
had escaped compromise! He turned hot and cold at the
recollection of what he had said and what he might have said.
Then for the first time he paused in his walk and looked
about him.

On leaving Grosvenor Square he had turned westward, moving
rapidly till the Marble Arch was reached; there, still
oblivious to his surroundings, he had crossed the roadway to
the Edgware Road, passing along it to the labyrinth of shabby
streets that lie behind Paddington. Now, as he glanced about
him, he saw with some surprise how far he had come.

The damp remnants of the fog still hung about the house-tops
in a filmy veil; there were no glimpses of green to break the
monotony of tone; all was quiet, dingy, neglected. But to
Chilcote the shabbiness was restful, the subdued atmosphere a
satisfaction. Among these sad houses, these passers-by, each
filled with his own concerns, he experienced a sense of
respite and relief. In the fashionable streets that bounded
his own horizon, if a man paused in his walk to work out an
idea he instantly drew a crowd of inquisitive or contemptuous
eyes; here, if a man halted for half an hour it was nobody's
business but his own.