Turning to the left, he regained Fleet Street and made for
his own habitation with the quiet accuracy that some men
exhibit in moments of absorption.
He crossed Clifford's Inn with the same slow, almost listless
step; then, as his own doorway came into view, he stopped.
Some one was standing in its recess.
For a moment he wondered if his fancy were playing him a
trick; then his reason sprang to certainty with so fierce a
leap that for an instant his mind recoiled. For we more often
stand aghast at the strength of our own feelings than before
the enormity of our neighbor's actions.
"Is that you, Chilcote?" he said, below his breath.
At the sound of his voice the other wheeled round. "Hallo!"
he said. "I thought you were the ghost of some old
inhabitant. I suppose I am very unexpected?"
Loder took the hand that he extended and pressed the fingers
unconsciously. The sight of this man was like the finding of
an oasis at the point where the desert is sandiest, deadliest,
most unbearable.
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