Hunted Down | Page 7

were a
proposal in that name, to bring it in. He had already laid it out of his
hand on the counter. It was easily selected from the rest, and he gave it
me. Alfred Beckwith. Proposal to effect a policy with us for two
thousand pounds. Dated yesterday.
'From the Middle Temple, I see, Mr. Slinkton.'
'Yes. He lives on the same staircase with me; his door is opposite. I
never thought he would make me his reference though.'
'It seems natural enough that he should.'
'Quite so, Mr. Sampson; but I never thought of it. Let me see.' He took
the printed paper from his pocket. 'How am I to answer all these
questions?'
'According to the truth, of course,' said I.
'O, of course!' he answered, looking up from the paper with a smile; 'I
meant they were so many. But you do right to be particular. It stands to
reason that you must be particular. Will you allow me to use your pen
and ink?'
'Certainly.'
'And your desk?'
'Certainly.'
He had been hovering about between his hat and his umbrella for a

place to write on. He now sat down in my chair, at my blotting- paper
and inkstand, with the long walk up his head in accurate perspective
before me, as I stood with my back to the fire.
Before answering each question he ran over it aloud, and discussed it.
How long had he known Mr. Alfred Beckwith? That he had to calculate
by years upon his fingers. What were his habits? No difficulty about
them; temperate in the last degree, and took a little too much exercise,
if anything. All the answers were satisfactory. When he had written
them all, he looked them over, and finally signed them in a very pretty
hand. He supposed he had now done with the business. I told him he
was not likely to be troubled any farther. Should he leave the papers
there? If he pleased. Much obliged. Good-morning.
I had had one other visitor before him; not at the office, but at my own
house. That visitor had come to my bedside when it was not yet
daylight, and had been seen by no one else but by my faithful
confidential servant.
A second reference paper (for we required always two) was sent down
into Norfolk, and was duly received back by post. This, likewise, was
satisfactorily answered in every respect. Our forms were all complied
with; we accepted the proposal, and the premium for one year was paid.

IV.
For six or seven months I saw no more of Mr. Slinkton. He called once
at my house, but I was not at home; and he once asked me to dine with
him in the Temple, but I was engaged. His friend's assurance was
effected in March. Late in September or early in October I was down at
Scarborough for a breath of sea-air, where I met him on the beach. It
was a hot evening; he came toward me with his hat in his hand; and
there was the walk I had felt so strongly disinclined to take in perfect
order again, exactly in front of the bridge of my nose.
He was not alone, but had a young lady on his arm.

She was dressed in mourning, and I looked at her with great interest.
She had the appearance of being extremely delicate, and her face was
remarkably pale and melancholy; but she was very pretty. He
introduced her as his niece, Miss Niner.
'Are you strolling, Mr. Sampson? Is it possible you can be idle?'
It WAS possible, and I WAS strolling.
'Shall we stroll together?'
'With pleasure.'
The young lady walked between us, and we walked on the cool sea
sand, in the direction of Filey.
'There have been wheels here,' said Mr. Slinkton. 'And now I look
again, the wheels of a hand-carriage! Margaret, my love, your shadow
without doubt!'
'Miss Niner's shadow?' I repeated, looking down at it on the sand.
'Not that one,' Mr. Slinkton returned, laughing. 'Margaret, my dear, tell
Mr. Sampson.'
'Indeed,' said the young lady, turning to me, 'there is nothing to tell -
except that I constantly see the same invalid old gentleman at all times,
wherever I go. I have mentioned it to my uncle, and he calls the
gentleman my shadow.'
'Does he live in Scarborough?' I asked.
'He is staying here.'
'Do you live in Scarborough?'
'No, I am staying here. My uncle has placed me with a family here, for
my health.'

'And your shadow?' said I, smiling.
'My shadow,' she answered, smiling too, 'is - like myself - not very
robust, I fear; for I lose my shadow sometimes, as my shadow loses me
at other times. We both seem