"I scarcely know. But I should like you to have had the experience. And then, you are so intuitive about people, you might have read him. I could not. And he was a fellow worth reading, that I'm certain of. No, I won't have any mutton. I seem to have lost my appetite over this." Valentine calmly continued his dinner, while Julian talked on about Marr rather excitedly. When they were having coffee Valentine said: "What shall we do to-night? It is only a quarter past nine. Shall we go anywhere?" "Oh no, I think not--wait--yes, we will." Julian drank his coffee off at a gulp, in a way that would have made him the despair of an epicure. "Where shall we go, then?" Julian answered: "To the Euston Road. To the 'European.'" "The 'European'!" "Yes, Valentine; I must see Marr once more, even dead. And I want you to see him. It was he who made the strangeness in our lives. But for him these curious events of the last days would not have happened. And isn't it peculiar that he must have died just about the time you were in your trance?" "I do not see that. The two things were totally unconnected." "Perhaps. I suppose so. But I must know how he died. I must see what he looks like dead. You will come with me?" "If you wish it. But we may not be admitted." "I will manage that somehow. Let us go." Valentine got up. He showed neither definite reluctance nor excitement. They put on their coats in the vestibule and went out into the street. While they had been dining the weather, fine during the day, had changed, and rain was falling in sheets. They stood in the doorway while the hall-porter called a cab. Piccadilly on such a night as this looked perhaps more decisively dreary than a rain-soaked country lane, or storm-driven sand-dunes by the sea. For wet humanity, with wispy hair and swishing petticoats, draggled with desire for shelter, is a piteous vision as it passes by.