“That’s right,” said his host encouragingly.  “Make yourself comfortable.  Greenacre may drop in at any moment.  You can’t think how much better I feel, Gammon.  So clear in the mind, you know—­why, it has only just occurred to me, this is New Year’s Eve.”

“So it is.  Here’s to your health and happiness, Lord Polperro!”

“Thank you, my dear Gammon.  I heartily wish you the same.  To-morrow, or at all events in a few days, a new life begins for me, as you know.  In the climate of the south of Europe, with my wife and the little girl—­ah, but for this idiotic title!—­I was saying—­”

He began to wander unintelligibly, then complained of physical sufferings, then coughed until he sank in exhaustion.

Time went on.  Gammon began to ask himself how long he should wait.  At half-past ten he made a suggestion that his lordship might do worse than go to bed, but this was ill received.

“By no means.  Greenacre may be here at any moment.  He will certainly come to-night.  If he doesn’t come, do you know what occurs to me?  Why shouldn’t we drive into the City and ask whether he has returned?”

“Ask where?”

“He lives at a place—­a sort of hotel—­which he calls the Bilboes.  Greenacre is eccentric, but thoroughly trustworthy.  He had a gentleman’s education.”

“He lives there, does he?” exclaimed Gammon.

“Finds it convenient, I suppose.  Yes, we will go and inquire—­we certainly will.”

Gammon’s objections were unheeded.  No one could take any harm, said Lord Polperro, from driving in a closed cab to the City and back.  He would leave directions that if Greenacre called during their absence he should be asked to wait.  So they made ready and went forth, and once more a hansom bore them through the dark, cold night.

Lord Polperro talked unceasingly, and from his rambling hints it was not difficult to conjecture the business on which Greenacre had been dispatched to Ireland.  Someone had to be discovered:  a doubt as to whether some person was alive or dead had to be set at rest.  Gammon ventured a few questions, which were answered evasively, but the nature of his companion’s anxiety was by this time clear enough to him.  He felt quite as desirous of meeting Greenacre as Lord Polperro himself.  Every hour spent in this way added to his responsibility, and he had made up his mind that at the earliest possible moment to-morrow he would himself see Mr. Cuthbertson, and confide to him everything that had happened during this extraordinary day.

As the cab ascended Ludgate Hill it passed through crowds of people moving in the same direction.  Gammon was for a moment surprised, then he called to mind again that it was New Year’s Eve; the people were thronging to hear St. Paul’s strike the hour of midnight.  Last year he had himself joined in this celebration.  He remembered with a smile that he reached home by circuitous routes, and after one or two short intervals of repose on convenient doorsteps.  What was more, on that very night he had first made Greenacre’s acquaintance at a bar; they swore eternal brotherhood, and Greenacre borrowed half a sovereign, never repaid.