On the last morning of his stay in Liverpool, John, being alone for an hour or two, set out with a distinct determination on his mind to do something, to leave not a stone unturned. He had already, when going about with the curate, fixed his mind upon this. Indeed it was never out of his mind. What had he come here for but with the determination to find out something, to find out everything if it were possible? He had gone about always on the look out, with his eyes open; but there had been nothing either said or done within his ken which threw any light upon his subject. On the last morning he was left alone, Mr. Cattley having business to execute with his brother, and John felt that now was his opportunity. He went out about ten o’clock with all the advantage of being by himself and unhindered by anyone else’s business. By this time he had become a little accustomed to the place and knew his way about. He walked along straight in front of him, looking at all the shop windows and the names over the doors. He did not quite see what help was to be got out of that--but still he went on, observing everything, hoping that perhaps some street corner might awaken his own dormant recollection, or something that would give him a better guidance catch his eye. He meant to leave no stone unturned. Was there ever a wilder undertaking than to try to find information about an unknown family by walking about the streets of a great city? When he had walked for an hour or two, and began to feel tired, the futility of this mode of research suddenly struck him. It did not seem likely that he could do it in this way, when he came to think of it. But how was he to do it? In what way was he to turn the metaphorical stone under which knowledge might be hid?