“There is a doorway, deep and gloomy, opposite the very house he inhabits,” replied Albert. “If it be now unoccupied, which it was not before, I should name it as a good place for observation.”
“Was it occupied?”
“Yes; and by one who seemed as much interested in watching Jacob Gray as I was.”
“Indeed?”
“Aye, sir. A man followed him closely, even as I did, and took up a station finally in the very door I mention.”
“That is very strange!” said Learmont, with a troubled air.
“It is; I cannot account for it, unless some person like yourself is watching him to discover if he be what he seems or not; or, perchance, some one may have seen Ada, and have been so smitten by her wondrous beauty, as to set a watch upon his house, with the hope that she may come forth.”
“I like it not—I like it not,” said Learmont musingly. “A watch upon Jacob Gray! ’Tis very strange! Bodes it good or evil?”
They had by this time arrived at the corner of the street in which was situated the obscure shop above which Gray slept, as he supposed, in security, and Albert turning to Learmont, said,—
“This is the street, and yonder is the doorway I mentioned to you.”