The closed carriage appeared no more; nor did any whisper either of good or evil reach me in connection with the mysterious house from which it had come.  Mr. Graves had apparently gone out of my life for ever.

But if he had gone out of my life, he had not gone out of my memory.  Often, as I walked my rounds, would the picture of that dimly-lit room rise unbidden.  Often would I find myself looking once more into that ghastly face, so worn, so wasted and haggard, and yet so far from repellent.  All the incidents of that last night would reconstitute themselves with a vividness that showed the intensity of the impression that they had made at the time.  I would have gladly forgotten the whole affair, for every incident of it was fraught with discomfort.  But it clung to my memory; it haunted me; and ever as it returned it bore with it the disquieting questions:  Was Mr. Graves still alive?  And, if he was not, was there really nothing which could have been done to save him?

Nearly a month passed before the practice began to show signs of returning to its normal condition.  Then the daily lists became more and more contracted and the day’s work proportionately shorter.  And thus the term of my servitude came to an end.  One evening, as we were writing up the day-book, Stillbury remarked: 

“I almost think, Jervis, I could manage by myself now.  I know you are only staying on for my sake.”

“I am staying on to finish my engagement, but I shan’t be sorry to clear out if you can do without me.”

“I think I can.  When would you like to be off?”

“As soon as possible.  Say to-morrow morning, after I have made a few visits and transferred the patients to you.”

“Very well,” said Stillbury.  “Then I will give you your cheque and settle up everything to-night, so that you shall be free to go off when you like to-morrow morning.”

Thus ended my connection with Kennington Lane.  On the following day at about noon, I found myself strolling across Waterloo Bridge with the sensations of a newly liberated convict and a cheque for twenty-five guineas in my pocket.  My luggage was to follow when I sent for it.  Now, unhampered even by a hand-bag, I joyfully descended the steps at the north end of the bridge and headed for King’s Bench Walk by way of the Embankment and Middle Temple Lane.

Chapter V

Jeffrey Blackmore’s Will

My arrival at Thorndyke’s chambers was not unexpected, having been heralded by a premonitory post-card.  The “oak” was open and an application of the little brass knocker of the inner door immediately produced my colleague himself and a very hearty welcome.

“At last,” said Thorndyke, “you have come forth from the house of bondage.  I began to think that you had taken up your abode in Kennington for good.”

“I was beginning, myself, to wonder when I should escape.  But here I am; and I may say at once that I am ready to shake the dust of general practice off my feet for ever—­that is, if you are still willing to have me as your assistant.”