Emma resumed an air of prudery, ‘Before very long, I dessay.’

’I wish you joy.  Well, I mustn’t talk longer now, but I’ll do my best to look in this evening, and then we can all chat together.’

He laughed and she laughed back; and thereupon they parted.

A little after nine that evening, when only a grey reflex of daylight lingered upon a cloudy sky, Munden stood beneath the plane-trees by Guy’s Hospital waiting.  He had walked the length of Maze Pond and had ascertained that his friend’s window as yet showed no light; Shergold was probably still from home.  In the afternoon he had made inquiry at the house of the deceased doctor, but of Henry nothing was known there; he left a message for delivery if possible, to the effect that he would call in at Maze Pond between nine and ten.

At a quarter past the hour there appeared from the direction of London Bridge a well-known figure, walking slowly, head bent.  Munden moved forward, and, on seeing him, Shergold grasped his hand feverishly.

‘Ha! how glad I am to meet you, Munden!  Come; let us walk this way.’  He turned from Maze Pond.  ’I got your message up yonder an hour or two ago.  So glad I have met you here, old fellow.’

‘Well, your day has come,’ said Harvey, trying to read his friend’s features in the gloom.

‘He has left me about eighty thousand pounds,’ Shergold replied, in a low, shaken voice.  ’I’m told there are big legacies to hospitals as well.  Heavens! how rich he was!’

‘When is the funeral?’

‘Friday.’

‘Where shall you live in the meantime?’

‘I don’t know—­I haven’t thought about it.’

‘I should go to some hotel, if I were you,’ said Munden, ’and I have a proposal to make.  If I wait till Saturday, will you come with me to Como?’

Shergold did not at once reply.  He was walking hurriedly, and making rather strange movements with his head and arms.  They came into the shadow of the vaulted way beneath London Bridge Station.  At this hour the great tunnel was quiet, save when a train roared above; the warehouses were closed; one or two idlers, of forbidding aspect, hung about in the murky gaslight, and from the far end came a sound of children at play.

‘You won’t be wanted here?’ Munden added.

‘No—­no—­I think not.’  There was agitation in the voice.

‘Then you will come?’

‘Yes, I will come.’  Shergold spoke with unnecessary vehemence and laughed oddly.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ his friend asked.

’Nothing—­the change of circumstances, I suppose.  Let’s get on.  Let us go somewhere—­I can’t help reproaching myself; I ought to feel or show a decent sobriety; but what was the old fellow to me?  I’m grateful to him.’

‘There’s nothing else on your mind?’

Shergold looked up, startled.

‘What do you mean?  Why do you ask?’

They stood together in the black shadow of an interval between two lamps.  After reflecting for a moment, Munden decided to speak.