Half guiltily I went in at one door and out by the other. Two men lay on the slates--the lowest of the low--and even the sanctifying hand of death could not allay the conviction that the world must necessarily be the richer for their removal from it. I came away and walked towards the river again. Standing on one of the bridges, I never knew which, I looked down at the slow green water. As I stood a municipal guard passed me with a suspicious glance. The clocks of the city struck six in a solemn jangle of tones. The boats were moving on the river--the great unwieldy barges as big as a ship. The streets were now astir. Paris seemed huge and as populous as an ant-hill. I felt the hopelessness of seeking unaided one who purposely hid himself in its streets. I went back to the Morgue and made some inquiries of the attendant there. Nay, I did more--for why should a man be coward enough to shut his eyes to patent fact?--I gave my name and address to the courteous official and asked him to send for me should any news come his way. It was plain enough that the Vicomte de Clericy had of late been in such a state of mind that the worst fears must needs be kept in view. I went back to the Faubourg St. Germain and crept quietly into the house of my patron by the side door, of which he himself had given me the key. Despite my noiseless tread, Madame was waiting for me at the head of the stairs. "Nothing?" she asked. "Nothing," replied I, and avoided her persistent eyes. To share an unspoken fear is akin to the knowledge of a common crime. At nine o'clock I sought John Turner in his apartment in the Avenue D'Antan, almost within a stone's throw of the British Embassy. There are some to whom one naturally turns in time of trouble and perplexity, while the existence of others who are equally important in their own estimation is at such moments forgotten. Our fellows seem to move around us in a circle--some step out of the rank and touch us as they pass--one, if it please God, comes out and stands beside us. John Turner had, I suppose, touched me in passing. He was at breakfast when I was shown into his presence. "You are looking fresh and well," he said, in his abrupt way, "so I suppose you are engaged in some mischief." "Not exactly. But what I began in play is continuing in earnest." "Yes," he said, looking at me with his easy smile while he dropped a piece of sugar into his coffee-cup. "Yes; young men are fond of walking into streams without ascertaining the depth on the farther side." "I suppose you were young yourself once?" retorted I, bringing forward a chair. "Yes--but I was always fat. Women always laughed at me behind my back. And, with a woman half the fun is to let you know her intention as she passes. I returned the compliment in my sleeve." "I do not see what women have to do in this matter," said I. "No--but I do. How is Mademoiselle this morning? Sit down; have a cup of coffee, and tell me all about her."