“No; let us have the glass up,” Julian said; “a drop of rain more or less doesn’t matter.  And I want some air.”

“So do I,” said Valentine.  “The atmosphere of that house was abominable.”

“Of course there can be no two opinions as to its character,” Julian said.

“Of course not.”

“What a dreary place to die in!”

“Yes.  But does it matter where one dies?  I think not.  I attach immense importance to where one lives.”

“It seems horrible to come to an end in such a place, to have had that wretched Frenchman as the only witness of one’s death.  Still, I suppose it is only foolish sentiment.  Valentine, did you notice how happy Marr looked?”

“No.”

“Didn’t you?  I thought you watched him almost as if you wondered as I did.”

“How could I?  I had never seen him before.”

“It was curious the landlord seeing a likeness between you and him.”

“Do you think so?  The man naturally supposed one of us might be a relation, as we came to see Marr.  I should not suppose there could be much resemblance.”

“There is none.  It’s impossible.  There can be none!”

They rattled on towards Piccadilly, back through the dismal thoroughfares, towards the asphalt ways of Bloomsbury.  Presently Julian said: 

“I wish I had seen Marr die.”

“But why, Julian?  Why this extraordinary interest in a man you knew so slightly and for so short a time?”

“It’s because I can’t get it out of my head that he had something to do with our sittings, more than we know.”

“Impossible.”

“I am almost certain the doctor thought so.  I must tell him about Marr’s death.  Valentine, let us drive to Harley Street now.”

Valentine did not reply at once, and Julian said: 

“I will tell the cabman.”

“Very well.”

Julian gave the order.

“I wonder if he will be in,” Julian said presently.  “What is the time?”

He took out his watch and held it up sideways until the light of a gas-lamp flashed on it for a moment.

“Just eleven.  So late?  I am surprised.”

“We were a good while at the ‘European.’”

“Longer than I thought.  Probably the doctor will have come in, even if he has been out dining.  Ah, here we are!”

The cab drew up.  Julian got out and rang the bell in the rain.

“Is Doctor Levillier at home?”

“No, sir.  He is out dining.  But I expect him every moment.  Will you come in and wait?” said the man-servant, who knew Julian well.

“Thanks; I think I will.  I rather want to see him.  I will just ask Mr. Cresswell.  He’s with me to-night.”

Julian returned to the cab, in which Valentine was sitting.

“The doctor will probably be home in a few minutes.  Let us go in and wait for him.”

“Yes, you go in.”

“But surely—­”