Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 3).djvu/489

 this man at Hull, perhaps he came off the same boat, and if he was hard up—but he must have been hard up before he would part with this, and then it's not much use to anyone else. No one would give a shilling for an old thing like this; but here it is, and here is the address of where the man stayed. It's the first clue I have ever had, Sister," and his face was bright with hope, "Jack may be still there, I must go without losing a minute. I may catch him before he goes on further. Is there anything else you want me for to-night?

He was already near the door. "No, not to-night; the others are all very comfortable. But do you not think it would be worth while to ask this man where he got the locket? It may not have been in Hull at all, and you would have the journey for nothing. Give me the locket, and I will ask him."

He handed it to me without appearing to follow what I had said.

The idea of his brother being within reach had taken such hold of his mind that he could hardly endure a minute's delay before going off to seek him.

I bent over No. 7's bed.

"I found this among your things," I said. "Is it your own, or did someone sell it to you?"

He looked up quickly and suspiciously. "What do you want to know for?" he muttered.

"I only want to know whether the man who owned this first was with you at this address in Hull."

He looked at me sharply, and did not answer for a minute.

"Yes," he said slowly, "the man who owned that was there when I was," and he turned round as if unwilling to say more.

I had learned all I wished, and repeated the information to Dr. Freston.

"Thank you very much," he said simply. "Good night, Sister; I may not see you for a few days." He was already on the landing.

"Good night, Dr. Freston," but I doubt if he heard me. He was half way downstairs.

Next day Dr. Freston's work was done by the junior surgeon, and the ward routine went on as usual.

I could find out nothing more of No. 7's history, except that his real age was 28. He looked at least ten years older. He had knocked about a good deal in the world, he told some of his fellow patients.

His injuries proved to be very slight, and on the evening of the second day he was allowed to sit up for a short time.

On the day following, when it was growing dusk, the door of the ward opened, and Dr. Freston came quietly in.

I saw at a glance that he had not been successful in his search. There was nothing more to be learnt at that address, he told me. The people there remembered quite well a man who gave the name of George Thomas sleeping there for one night a week ago, but they were sure they had had no other lodger at the time. They knew nothing whatever about the man. He was evidently very poor, but had paid for what he had had.

I could see how keenly he felt his failure, and tried to say how grieved I was at his disappointment.

"I ought not to have built so many hopes upon so slight a foundation," he replied, with a poor attempt at a smile, and a tone of weary sorrow in his voice. "I have waited so long that I ventured to think that perhaps at last he—" then checking himself, and with an effort turning his thoughts elsewhere—"but I am late,