Next morning I went forth and wandered down the Strand--the dear old
Strand that I had once loved so well. No; it had in no wise changed,
except, perhaps, that two or three monster buildings had sprung up, and
that the theatres announced pieces quite unknown to me. A sudden desire
seized me to see what kind of place was my own office. If, however, I
went near there, I might, I reflected, be recognised by some one who
knew me. Therefore I turned into a barber's and had my beard cut off,
then, further on, bought a new dust coat and another hat. In that
disguise I took a hansom to Old Broad Street.
I was not long in finding the business headquarters of my own self. How
curious it all was! My name was marked upon a huge brass plate in the
entrance-hall of that colossal block of offices, and I ascended to the
first floor to find my name inscribed upon the door of one of the
largest of the suites. I stood in the corridor carelessly reading a
paper, and while doing so witnessed many persons, several of them
smart-looking City men, leave, as though much business was being
conducted within.
Fortunately, no one recognised me, and descending, I regained the
street.
When outside I glanced up, and there saw my name, in big gilt letters,
upon the wire blinds of six big windows.
If I were actually as well known in the City as Gedge had alleged, then
it was dangerous for me to remain in that vicinity. Therefore I entered
another cab and drove to my old chambers in Essex Street.
Up the thin-worn creaking stairs of the dismal, smoke-begrimed old place
I climbed, but on arrival at my door a plate confronting me showed that
Percival and Smale, solicitors, were now the occupants. From inquiries
I made of Mr Smale, it appeared that they had occupied the floor as
offices for the past three years, and that the tenants previous to them
had been a firm of accountants. He knew nothing of my tenancy, and
could tell me no word of either old Mrs Parker or of Dick Doyle, who
had, it appeared, also vacated his quarters long ago. That afternoon I
wandered in the Park, over that same road where I had lingered with
Mabel in those cherished days bygone. Every tree and every object
brought back to me sweet memories of her. But I remembered her letters
reposing in my pocket, and bit my lip. Truly, in the unconscious life
when I had been my other self, my real tastes had been inverted. My
love for her had cooled. I had actually, when engaged to her, cast her
aside.
It was incredible. Surely my experience was unique in all the world.
Unable to decide how to act in those puzzling circumstances, I spent
fully a couple of hours in the Park. The Row was hot, dusty, and almost
deserted, but at last I turned into the shady walks in Kensington
Gardens, and wandered until I came out into the High Street by that same
gate where she had once discovered the dead man's pencil-case in my
possession.
As I stood there in the full light of that glaring afternoon, the whole
scene came back vividly to me. She had known that man who had been so
foully murdered in her mother's home. I must, at all costs, find her,
clear myself, and elucidate the truth.
Hence, with that object, I hailed another cab, and, giving the man
directions to drive to The Boltons, sat back, eager and wondering.
As the conveyance drew up my heart gave a leap for joy, for I saw by the
blinds that the house was still occupied.