The day after the search stopped temporarily, Kay arrived in the city, to my great delight. It was a keen relief to have him back. The tour had been a failure, and the company had become stranded in Port Hope, Ontario. Salaries were never paid; he had received hotel board, railway ticket, laundry, but rarely any cash. What luggage he possessed was in the Port Hope hotel, held in lieu of payment. It remained there. We talked things over, and the news about Boyde, heard now for the first time in detail, shocked him. There was no doubt or hesitation in Kay’s mind. “Of course you must arrest him; we’ll go out to-night and look.” We did so, but with no result. Kay had the remains of a borrowed $10, we dined at Krisch’s; he had cigarettes, too.... We passed a happy evening, coming home early from the chase. Like myself, he had no overcoat, but the money did not reach to getting it from Ikey where Boyde had pawned it. We sat indoors, and talked.... Only a short three months before we had sat talking round a camp-fire on our island. It seemed incredible. We discussed my plan for settling in the woods, to which he was very favourably inclined. Meanwhile, he explained, his Company was preparing another tour with better plays and better cast. They hoped to start out after Christmas, now only a week away. The word “Christmas” made us laugh. I still had the Christmas menu of our Hub dinner, and we pinned it upon the wall. It might suggest something to the long-suffering Mrs. Bernstein, Kay thought. But instead we ate our oatmeal and dried apples.... CHAPTER XXIII It was on the Tuesday before Christmas that I caught Boyde; the day also before the White Star steamers sailed. The cold was Arctic, a biting east wind swept the streets. There was no sun. If ever there was a Black Tuesday for me it was that 18th of December, 1892. Towards evening, the doctor, I knew, would expect me as usual; there was nothing to prevent my going; and yet each time the thought cropped up automatically in my mind I was aware of a vague, indeterminate feeling that somehow or other I should not go. This dim feeling also was automatic. There was nothing I knew of to induce, much less to support it. I did not mention it to Kay. I could not understand whence it came nor what caused it, but it did not leave me, it kept tugging at my nerves. “You’re not going to the doctor’s to-night,” it said, “you’re going elsewhere.” After dark this odd feeling became more and more insistent, and then all at once it connected itself with Boyde. Quite suddenly this happened. I had not been thinking of Boyde at the moment; now, abruptly, up cropped his name and personality. I was to go out and catch him.