Those dark eyes which had pierced me on the previous night once more turned to mine. In their depths a film was gathering. He motioned that he wished to speak, and I leaned down till my face almost touched his.
“Well?” I inquired, kindly and softly.
“It’s—for—Nell—I—”
All was over!
For a few seconds I was stunned. It seemed impossible that he was dead—it was not to be realised, in spite of the inanimate body before me.
Then suddenly I gazed about me.
The noise of busy London was in my ears; the day was before me. No more could be learnt from the corpse—why should I stay?
Hastily putting the photograph and the piece of sealed paper into my pocket, I turned and left the room.
The energy of the movement was so great that as I opened the door my attention was attracted by the skirt of a woman’s dress disappearing round a corner of the landing.
In spite of my haste, however, the person had gone when I reached the door of the house and stepped into the street. There was no one visible.