"I am absolutely at your disposal," he said, in a voice which he tried to make firm, though with small success. "I am obliged to you. And now you will come and have something to eat with me; it is my usual time." Julian declined, however, and almost immediately took his leave. He walked all the way to Chelsea, regarding nothing that he passed. When he found himself in his lodgings he put a match to the ready-laid fire, and presently made himself some tea. Then he sat idly through the evening, for the most part staring into the glowing coals, occasionally taking up a book for a few minutes, and throwing it aside again with a sigh of weariness. As it got late he shivered so with cold, in spite of the fire, that he had to sit in his overcoat. When it was past midnight he began to pace the room, making impatient gestures, and often resting his head upon his hands as if it ached. It must have been about a quarter to one when there was the sound of a vehicle pulling up in the street below, followed by a knock at the door. Julian went down himself, and admitted Mr. Woodstock. "What can it mean?" he asked anxiously, when they had walked up to the room together. "What has become of him?" "Don't know. I stopped at his place on the way here." "Don't you fear some mischance? With all that money--" "Pooh! It's some absurd freak of his, I'll warrant. He doesn't care how much anxiety he gives other people." Mr. Woodstock was excited and angry. "But he will certainly go--go _there_ in the morning, wherever he is," said Julian. "I'm not so sure of that. I believe it's on that very account that he's keeping out of the way!" He smote his fist on the palm of the other hand with the emphasis of conviction. Julian looked at him with an expression of wonder. There was a short silence, and then Mr. Woodstock began to speak more calmly. The conversation lasted only about a quarter of an hour. Mr. Woodstock then returned to his cab, which had waited, and Julian bade him good night at the door.