Meanwhile certain of the young poet's friends had called to see him at the Eyrie, and to their amazement found his rooms deserted; in the staring bay window with the inner blinds thrown wide open was notice "To Let." His landlady knew nothing of his whereabouts. He had said good-bye to no one. His disappearance was perhaps the most mysterious of mysterious disappearances!
Now, what really happened was this. Having packed everything he valued and seen it safely stored, he settled with his landlady and went down to the Club. It was his P.P.C., though no one there suspected it, and with just a touch of sentiment—he walked through the rooms alone; he saw at a glance that the usual habitues of the place were employing themselves in the same old way. Though he had not been there often of late, no one seemed much surprised to see him; he passed through the suite of rooms without addressing himself to any one in particular; a glance of recognition here and there; a smile, a slight nod, now and again, this was all. Having made the rounds he returned to the cloak-room, took his hat and cane and departed.
From that hour dated his disappearance. From that hour the Eyrie saw him no more forever.
IV.
BY THE WORLD FORGOT
