I cannot tell you how strange it seemed to me to be back again in London after so long an absence, and how bitterly I felt the loss of the poor old mother's kindly welcome. As to Maud, my gentle Maud, of whom I had been thinking more than was good for me of late, was it any use to think of her? Had I forfeited all right to her regard? So constantly was she in my mind that I remember one night, under cover of darkness, stealing down to Holland Park just to take one glimpse at the old place where she had lived, and where once I had been so happy.
It was a wet, miserable evening; a piercing wind shrieked along the dismal streets and moaned round the corners, chilling to the marrow the bones of one accustomed to the warmth and brightness of those sunny Southern seas. Leaving my omnibus in the Uxbridge Road, I walked up a side street to the house. There it stood, solid and respectable as I remembered it. No changes had been made in its exterior, everything was exactly as when I saw it last, even to the peculiar scrimpiness about the piece of privet hedge beside the gate. A light was burning in an up-stair window, but otherwise the house was dark and silent as the grave. I stood and looked, the tears rising in my eyes as I did so; then, heaving a sigh for the sake of "auld lang syne," and all that might have been, I turned and went sorrowfully away.
And now I am brought to the relation of an incident which was to have a great and awful bearing on my future. One wet morning, I had just alighted from a 'bus in Oxford Street, a little below the Holborn Restaurant, and was half-way across the street, when a hansom whisked past me, so close that the horse's nose brushed my sleeve. The driver called to me to stand clear, and, expecting an accident, the fare threw open the apron and half stepped out. To my amazement he was none other than the Albino. There could be no mistake about it; I knew him in an instant. My astonishment was so great that I stopped in the middle of the road, and once more came near being run over.
On recovering myself my first impulse was to hail a hansom and make after him, but on second thoughts I saw the folly of such a proceeding. My one endeavour must rather be to keep out of his way. Whether he recognized me or not I could not of course tell, but we were so close to one another that it was most unlikely that he could have failed to do so. But then, I told myself, even if he did, what could it matter? He would never suspect me of being the possessor of the locket, for how should he know that I had escaped with Veneda from Batavia? Still, until I knew whether the secret the locket contained was of any value, it would be folly to run the risk of losing it. How well I guarded it the sequel will show.
Having little if any money to spend in what is called "knocking about town," I did not go out very much of an evening. When I did, my chief amusement was the theatre, to which I treated myself on an average about twice a week. After the performance it was my custom on the way home to drop into a small hostelry called the "Rose and Crown" for a night-cap. One evening (I had been to the Lyceum, I think) I went in and called for my usual refreshment. The bar was crowded, and among the visitors was a man who seemed to take a particular interest in myself. He came up to me and invited me to take a glass with him. Upon my offering some excuse he tried by every means in his power to ingratiate himself with me. But I did not like his look, and resolved, if I saw anything more of him there, to transfer my patronage from the "Rose and Crown" elsewhere.
A few nights later I was annoyed at finding him there again, this time evidently awaiting my coming. As soon as I entered he advanced upon me, and asked why I had refused to drink with him on the previous occasion, demanding if I had any objection to his company? It would have been the easiest thing in the world for me to have knocked him down, but I did not want to make a row, so I resolved if possible not to lose my temper with him. As soon as he found I was prepared to listen to what he had to say, he entered upon a long rambling statement as to what he would have done had I insulted him again, winding up by inserting his hand inside my collar, and at the same time tugging violently at the chain which held the locket round my neck. I was so surprised by his impudence that for a second or two I let him pull, then, divining his intention, I immediately knocked him down.
His fall raised a hubbub, but as soon as I could I explained matters to the landlord, who, knowing me for a regular customer, was the more disposed to overlook such a trifling indiscretion as knocking a stranger down in his bar. When I left the house I hastened home, reflecting with considerable gratitude (seeing the aspect affairs were beginning to assume) that another ten days would give me the right to open the locket and decide its secret.
That the man was an emissary of the Albino's, employed to find out if by any chance I had the locket, I did not for a moment doubt. The whole thing was as clear as daylight. Macklin had discovered Veneda's whereabouts, and our escape together. Of course he could not know anything of the other's death, but meeting me in London he must have thought it worth his while to make sure that I was not the possessor of what he was so anxious to obtain. Now the man would be able to inform him definitely that I had got it, and things would be pretty certain to come to a crisis. I resolved to be more careful than ever.
On the Saturday following the events just described, I was not very well, a feeling of intense depression had seized me, and in order to try and raise my spirits I went to the Empire Music Hall. While mixed up in the crowd leaving it I felt my arm clutched. Imagine my amazement on turning at finding myself confronted by no less a person than Juanita! She was dressed entirely in black, and though thinner than when we had parted, still looked surpassingly beautiful. Without a word she slipped her arm through mine and drew me from the building. When we reached the street, she said—
"My Jack, how I have longed for this day! Oh, the joy of seeing you again!"