To my surprise he started to his feet with what was almost a cry. "No, no! why should I dream that again?" he stammered, staring at me. "Haven't I tried to forget it—haven't I persuaded myself that I had forgotten it. Oh, dear God! that these things should be sent to trouble a poor old man who has done his best always for everybody!" he moaned. "There, there—go away; leave me alone! I want time to think—or rather time not to think."
I went away and left him, closing the door after me. Just as I reached the hall door I came upon that tall youth, Andrew Ferkoe. He grinned amiably. A sudden thought occurring to me, I drew him aside, and whispered to him—
"Look here," I said, "I believe you're a friend of mine, aren't you?"
"Rather!" he said. "You're so wonderful; you've seen such things, and done such things."
"Never mind about that," I said hastily. "I want you to promise to come to me, if you think Miss Matchwick is in any danger, or if you think anyone is plotting against her. See, here is my address"—I scribbled it on a scrap of paper and thrust it into his hands—"and I shall rely upon you to be faithful, to her as well as to me. Will you?"
He seemed quite elated at his commission. "Do you really trust me?" he asked gleefully. "I'd do anything for you, and for her. I feel somehow that I'm getting braver and stronger. I shan't put up much longer with old Blowfield's bullying. I feel sometimes when I look at him that I could do murder!"
I laughed as I went out of the house. The idea of this weak-kneed, lanky youth, of all others, "doing murder" seemed too ridiculous. I went on my way feeling pretty well satisfied with the turn of events, and firmly convinced that the very fears under which Uncle Zabdiel laboured were the greatest safeguard Debora and I could have. Moreover, I had gained one other friend in that strange house, and that was Andrew Ferkoe.
My lodging was in a little house not very far, as you may have guessed, from that house belonging to Uncle Zabdiel in which Debora had so opportunely found shelter. On this particular evening I was in no hurry to retire to the one little room I had rented. On a sudden impulse I made up my mind that I would linger a little while in the neighbourhood, and would see, if possible, for myself whether or not those two shadows on the wall really belonged to the doctor and to William Capper. So I took up my station not very far from the house, but in a position from which I could observe it easily; and there I waited.
I will not describe my long wait, nor the shadows I saw, which might have been the shadows of the doctor and Capper, but which were not. I was disappointed fifty times at least, felt my heart jump as many times when two men, or even one man, came anywhere in my direction, or happened by the merest chance to glance towards that house. I had not fully made up my mind what to do should either man put in an appearance, and indeed I was saved the trouble of putting into execution any plan I might have evolved, by reason of the fact that no one I knew came near the house.
Once, it is true, from where I watched, I saw an upper window open, and the head of Uncle Zabdiel, like some extremely ugly gargoyle, obtrude itself into the night. I guessed, with an inward chuckle, that he might be looking for those shadows for which I also was on the watch. But soon afterwards that window was closed, and the house was wrapped in silence and darkness. I kept my vigil until something towards three in the morning, and then went off to my lodging. In five minutes I was undressed and in bed; the rest was a dreamless sleep.