Presently he shook his recollections into order, and when a lamp was brought in he began to talk lucidly.

“Gammon, I feel very uneasy in my mind.  This morning I quite intended to have gone and seen Cuthbertson; but I was taken ill, you know.  What is the time?  I wonder whether Cuthbertson is likely to be at his office still?”

“That’s your lawyer, isn’t it?  Would you like me to go and try to get hold of him?  I might bring him here.”

“You are very kind, Gammon.  For some reason I feel that I really ought to see him to-day.  Suppose we go together?”

“But you oughtn’t to be out at night, ought you?”

“Oh, I feel much better.  Besides, we shall drive, you know—­quite comfortable.  I really think we will go.  Then you shall come back and dine with me.  Yes, I think we will go.”

Between this decision and the actual step half an hour was wasted in doubts, fresh resolves, moments of forgetfulness, and slow preparation.  A messenger had been dispatched for a cab, and at length almost by force Gammon succeeded in getting his lordship down the stairs and out into the street.  They drove to Old Jewry Chambers.  Throughout the journey Lord Polperro kept up a constant babbling, which he meant for impressive talk; much of it was inaudible to his companion, from the noise of the cab, and the sentences that could be distinguished were mere repetitions of what he had said before leaving home—­that he felt it absolutely necessary to see Cuthbertson, and that he could not understand Greenacre’s silence.  They reached the solicitor’s office at about half-past five.  Lord Polperro entered only to return with a face of disappointment.

“He has gone.  No one there but a clerk—­no use.”

“Couldn’t you find him at his private address?” asked Gammon.

“Private address? to be sure!  I’ll go in again and ask for it.”

Mr. Cuthbertson lived at Streatham.

“I tell you what,” said Lord Polperro, whose mind seemed to be invigorated by his activity, “we’ll go to Streatham, but first of all we must have something to eat.  The fact is, I had no lunch; I begin to feel rather faint.”

He bade the cabman drive to any restaurant not far away.  There the vehicle was dismissed, and they sat down to a meal.  Gammon as usual ate heartily.  Lord Polperro pretended to do the same but in reality swallowed only a few mouthfuls, and gave his more serious attention to the wine.  Every few minutes he assured his companion in a whisper that he would feel quite at ease when he had seen Cuthbertson.

They looked out the trains to Streatham, and left just in time to catch one.  On the journey his lordship dozed.  He was growing very husky again, and the cough shook him badly after each effort to talk, so Gammon felt glad to see him resting.  By the gaslight in the railway carriage his face appeared to flush and go pale alternately; at moments it looked horribly cadaverous with its half-open eyes, shrivelled lips, and thin, sharp, high-ridged nose.  On arriving the man lost all consciousness of where he was and what he purposed; it took many minutes before Gammon could convey him into a cab and extort from him Mr. Cuthbertson’s address.