Nigel certainly was going at express speed, when on turning a sharp corner, he barely escaped collision with a short and round-shouldered individual of advanced age, wearing a fur-bordered greatcoat almost down to the heels, and a Glengarry cap, from beneath which flowed thick locks of snow-white hair. Two black eyes, bright as beads, flashed a glance of indignant remonstrance, and the high-pitched voice, petulant in tone, was unmistakable. "Mr. Carden-Cox. I beg your pardon. How do you do?" Nigel put out his hand in greeting. The other stared haughtily. "Eh! who are you?" "Don't you know me?" "No, sir. I have not that pleasure," with an aggrieved sound. "I'm Nigel—just come home." "Young Browning. Humph." It was dull and damp, the fogginess having deepened, and this no doubt was partly the reason why Nigel had so nearly run the old gentleman down, added to that old gentleman's perverse habit of walking on the wrong side of the pavement. But Mr. Carden-Cox had plainly no intention of allowing his movements to be influenced by weather. He pulled off one of his gloves, fished laboriously for a double eye-glass, adjusted the same carefully on the bridge of his nose, and retreated to the neighbourhood of the nearest lamp, beckoning Nigel to follow. "Here, let me see. Nigel Browning! I declare I shouldn't have known the lad." "Am I so altered?" "Altered! There's not an inch of you the same." This was absurd, and Nigel smiled. "What are you after here—eh?" "Going home. Just arrived. They don't expect me till to-morrow, so it's to be a surprise." "Why on earth didn't you take the steps? Missed them in the dark? That's not like you. Some folks do go mooning about with their eyes in the stars; but I thought you were practical." "I didn't miss the steps. I came this way by choice." "Hey? What for?" "A fancy of mine. I must be off, or my luggage will arrive first." "Not if you keep up the pace you were going just now." Mr. Carden-Cox paused to survey Nigel all over, from head to foot, as if gauging his value. "Yes—you've filled out—expanded—developed—twice the man you were! But there's something about you which I don't quite understand. Good-bye. We shall meet again soon." Nigel did not fail to keep up his former pace, even to accelerate it. If he wished to arrive before his luggage, he really had no time to lose, for Pollard would not be guilty of delay. And instead of following the bend to the right which Pollard would follow, Nigel soon shot away to the left, through a dark lane, with high walls on both sides, and a fringe of tall trees from enclosed gardens peeping over the wall-tops. This lane led direct into a large square, chiefly composed of old-fashioned red-brick houses, each varying in shape and size from its neighbours. At the entrance to the square, where three short posts barred the way to vehicles, Nigel paused to look. That was what he had come for: to indulge himself in a look.