g hansom, and Salisbury turned northward to walk
home to his lodgings.

II

Mr. Salisbury, as may have been gathered from the few remarks which he
had found it possible to introduce in the course of the evening, was a
young gentleman of a peculiarly solid form of intellect, coy and
retiring before the mysterious and the uncommon, with a constitutional
dislike of paradox. During the restaurant dinner he had been forced to
listen in almost absolute silence to a strange tissue of
improbabilities strung together with the ingenuity of a born meddler in
plots and mysteries, and it was with a feeling of weariness that he
crossed Shaftesbury Avenue, and dived into the recesses of Soho, for
his lodgings were in a modest neighbourhood to the north of Oxford
Street. As he walked he speculated on the probable fate of Dyson,
relying on literature unbefriended by a thoughtful relative; and could
not help concluding that so much subtlety united to a too vivid
imagination would in all likelihood have been rewarded with a pair of
Sandwich-boards or a super's banner. Absorbed in this train of thought,
and admiring the perverse dexterity which could transmute the face of a
sickly woman and a case of brain disease into the crude elements of
romance, Salisbury strayed on through the dimly lighted streets, not
noticing the gusty wind which drove sharply round corners and whirled
the stray rubbish of the pavement into the air in eddies, while black
clouds gathered over the sickly yellow moon. Even a stray drop or two
of rain blown into his face did not rouse him from his meditations, and
it was only when with a sudden rush the storm tore down upon the street
that he began to consider the expediency of finding some shelter. The
rain, driven by the wind, pelted down with the violence of a
thunder-storm, dashing up from the stones and hissing through the air,
and soon a perfect torrent of water coursed along the kennels and
accumulated in pools over the choked-up drains. The few stray
passengers who had been loafing rather than walking about the street,
had scuttered away like frightened rabbits to some invisible places of
refuge, and though Salisbury whistled loud and long for a hansom, no
hansom appeared. He looked about him, as if to discover how far he
might be from the haven of Oxford Street; but strolling carelessly
along he had turned out of his way, and found himself in an unknown
region, and one to all appearance devoid even of a pu