The reverberation of the last had scarcely died away when a
light, measured footfall made him sit up. It came nearer and nearer, and
then, after a moment's hesitation, sounded on his own doorstep. With
that there came the tap of a cane on the window. With thought and
expectation resolutely suspended, Lefevre swung out of the room and to
the hall-door. He opened it, and stood and gazed. The light of the
hall-lamp fell upon a figure, the sight of which sent the blood in a
gush to his heart, and pierced him with horror. He expected Julius, and
he looked on the man whom he had followed on the crowded pavements some
weeks before,--the man whom the police had long sought for
ineffectually!
"Won't you let me in, Lefevre?" said the man.
The doctor stood speechless, with his eyes fixed: the face and dress of
the person before him were those of Hernando Courtney, but the voice was
the voice of Julius, though it sounded strange and distant, and bore an
accent as of death. Lefevre was involved in a wild turmoil and horror of
surmise, too appalling to be exactly stated to himself; for he shrank
with all his energy from the conclusion to which he was being forced.
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