first steps he took in the open air towards the lodge, under that pure sky in which the sun had not yet risen, it was his honest and his firm intention to take it straight to Crampton Park, to discover "Lauderdale," to restore it to its owner and to explain all.
The lodge he found to be empty and even ruinous. A mouldy gate stood with one of its bars broken, hanging by a single hinge, ajar. He passed out upon a lonely country lane. He was glad it was lonely. An elderly don in an exceedingly dirty shirt, clad in evening clothes which had been through something worse than a prize fight, his collar crumpled and vile, no tie, and boots half buttonless, would be foolish to desire any general companionship of human strangers upon a May-day morning. It was up to him to find his whereabouts, and to make the best of his way to his lodgings and to proper clothing. Then, he hoped, by six at the latest, he could do what the voice of duty bade him do. He felt in his pocket, and was glad to find his latch-key and his money safe, for with these two a man commands the world; but as he felt in his pockets he missed something familiar. What it was he could not recollect—only, he knew vaguely something
