He returned for an umbrella, and before long was walking
aimlessly about the Strand, unable to make up his mind whether to
turn into a theatre or not. Instead of doing so, he sought a
certain upper room of a familiar restaurant, where the day's
papers were to be seen, and perchance an acquaintance might be
met. Only half-a-dozen men were there, reading and smoking, and
all were unknown to him. He drank a glass of lager beer, skimmed
the news of the evening, and again went out into the bad weather.
After all it was better to go home. Everything he encountered had
an unsettling effect upon him, so that he was further than ever
from the decision at which he wished to arrive. In Mornington
Road he came upon Whelpdale, who was walking slowly under an
umbrella.
'I've just called at your place.'
'All right; come back if you like.'
'But perhaps I shall waste your time?' said Whelpdale, with
unusual diffidence.
Reassured, he gladly returned to the house. Milvain acquainted
him with the fact of John Yule's death, and with its result so
far as it concerned the Reardons.
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