He looked about him as if he half expected to discover Philip Lawrence hidden behind a curtain or under a table.
“Do I understand you to mean that your master has not returned all night?”
“Yes, sir; that’s what I do mean, and that’s what makes me so—concerned. He’s a gentleman of regular habits—most regular; and I’ve never known him to stop out all night before without giving me warning.”
I felt that, in that case, he must indeed be a gentleman of most regular habits.
“Where does Mr. Philip Lawrence live?”
“In Arlington Street; that’s his London address.”
“When did he go out?”
“After midnight, in—in a towering rage.”
“In a towering rage? With whom?”
“Well, sir,”—Mr. Morley came closer; he cast an anxious glance around him; he dropped his voice—“I’m not a talkative man, not as a rule, as any one who knows me will tell you; but I’ve got something to say which I feel I must say to some one, though you heard what Dr. Hume said. But, perhaps, sir, as you’re Mr. Edwin’s friend, you’re Mr. Philip’s too.”