The fact was that, in my impatience, it appeared longer than it really would have done.
Eventually we regained the Strand, and shortly afterwards our conveyance came to a standstill in what appeared to be anything but an inviting neighbourhood. Not a soul was about, and the empty street rattled loudly as we clattered along it.
We were in Drury Lane, before the entrance to a narrow squalid court.
As we stopped I turned with a sigh of relief to my companion, who, however, stirred not.
A fearful misgiving entered my heart. Was it possible he was dead?
Profoundly thankful I felt when, after shaking him, he turned and opened his eyes.
“Come; is this the place?” I asked, assisting him to his feet.
He followed me mechanically, but leaned very heavily on my arm as we stood for a moment while I paid the cabman.
“Where is it?” was my next question.
With an effort he composed himself, passing his hand wearily over his eyes. He appeared much changed. Inwardly deploring my forgetfulness, I drew my flask from my pocket and tendered him a pull, which he accepted with feverish energy.