ly I found that my eyes were
directed towards somebody who was sitting, back to me, on one of the
benches. I saw the person--if it was a person,--through the railings."

"If it was a person!" said the Father. "What do you mean by that?"

"Wait a minute. I say that because it was too dark for me to know. I
merely saw some blackish object on the bench, rising into view above the
level of the back of the seat. I couldn't say it was man, woman or
child. But something there was, and I found that I was looking at it."

"I understand."

"Gradually, I also found that my thoughts were becoming fixed upon this
thing or person. I began to wonder, first, what it was doing there;
next, what it was thinking; lastly, what it was like."

"Some poor creature without a home, I suppose," said the Father.

"I said that to myself. Still, I was taken with an extraordinary
interest about this object, so great an interest that I got my hat and
crossed the road to go into the Park. As you know, there's an entrance
almost opposite to my house. Well, Murchison, I crossed the road, passed
through the gate in the railings, went up to the seat, and found that
there was--nothing on it."

"Were you looking at it as you walked?"

"Part of the time. But I removed my eyes from it just as I passed
through the gate, because there was a row going on a little way off, and
I turned for an instant in that direction. When I saw that the seat was
vacant I was seized by a most absurd sensation of disappointment, almost
of anger. I stopped and looked about me to see if anything was moving
away, but I could see nothing. It was a cold night and misty, and there
were few people about. Feeling, as I say, foolishly and unnaturally
disappointed, I retraced my steps to this house. When I got here I
discovered that during my short absence I had left the hall door
open--half open."

"Rather imprudent in London."

"Yes. I had no idea, of course, that I had done so, till I got back.
However, I was only away three minutes or so."

"Yes."

"It was not likely that anybody had gone in."

"I suppose not."

"Was it?"

"Why do you ask me that, Guildea?"

"Well, well!"

"Besides, if anybody had gone in on your return you'd have caught him,
surely."

Guildea coughed again. The Father, surprised, could not fail to
recognise that he was nervous and that his nervousness was affecting him
physically.

"I must have caught cold that night," he said, as if he had r