'clock he took a cab, and went off to Waymark's lodgings in
Chelsea. Here he learned that Waymark had left home at the usual time,
and had not yet returned. Just as he was speaking with the landlady at
the door, another gentleman came up on the same errand. Mr. Woodstock
remembered Julian Casti, and held out his hand to him. Casti looked
ill; his handsome features had wasted, and his fair complexion was
turned to a dull, unhealthy, yellowish hue. It was a comparatively warm
day for the season, but his thin frame was closely muffled up, and
still he seemed to be shrinking under the air.

"Have you any idea where he can be?" Mr. Woodstock asked, as they
turned away together.

"None whatever. I must see him to-night, though, if possible."

"Ha! And I too."

As he spoke Mr. Woodstock looked at the other keenly, and something
seemed to suggest itself to him.

"I'm going to see if he's been for the rents as usual. Would you care
to come with me?"

Julian looked surprised, but assented. They got into the cab together,
and alighted at the end of Litany Lane, having scarcely spoken on the
way. Inquiries here showed that the collector had gone his rounds, and
departed, it was said, in the ordinary way.

"Have you an hour to spare, Mr. Casti?" asked the old gentleman,
turning suddenly after a moment's reflection.

"Certainly."

"Then I wish you'd just come on with me to St. John's Street Road. It's
possible you may have it in your power to do me a great service, if
Waymark doesn't turn up. And yet, ten to one, I shall find him waiting
for me. Never mind, come along if you can spare the time; you'll find
him the sooner."

Mr. Woodstock tried to pooh-pooh his own uneasiness; yet, totally
improbable as it seemed that Waymark should disappear at such a
juncture, the impatience of the afternoon had worked him into a most
unwonted fit of nervousness. Doubts and suspicions which would
ordinarily never have occurred to him filled his mind. He was again
quite silent till his office was reached.

Waymark had not been. They walked upstairs together, and Mr. Woodstock
asked his companion to be seated. He himself stood, and began to poke
the fire.

"Do you live in Chelsea still?" he suddenly asked.

"Yes."

"I have left word at Waymark's lodgings that he is to come straight
here whenever he returns. If he's not here by midnight, should I find
you up if I called--say at half-past twelve or so?"

"I would in any case wait up