"And what was the name Lord Wyvelstoke used?"
"Devereux, sir."
"Hum!" said my uncle. And thereafter we walked in silence through streets beginning to stir with the busy life of a new day.
Reaching my uncle's chambers in St. James's Street, he paused in the doorway to glance up and down the street with that same expression of fixed intensity, that faraway look of absorption.
"This," said he, speaking almost as with an effort, "this has been a—somewhat eventful walk of ours, Peregrine. I will not invite you to breakfast, remembering you have guests of your own. Au revoir."
"Uncle Jervas," said I, as we clasped hands, "this has indeed been an eventful walk, for to-day I have learned to know you better than I ever expected, or dared to hope—sir, are you ill?" I questioned anxiously, for despite that trickle of moisture at his temple, the hand I held felt deadly cold and nerveless. "Are you ill, sir?"
"Never better, Perry!" he laughed, clapping me lightly on the shoulder. "Get you to your guests. And by the by—talking of ghosts and grimly spectres—egad, Perry, I almost believe they do haunt this sorry world, sometimes!" So saying, he laughed, turned, and was gone, leaving me to stare after him in anxious wonderment.
CHAPTER II
INTRODUCING JASPER SHRIG, A BOW STREET RUNNER
"Ham, Peregrine?"