The Gerrard Street Mystery and Other Weird Tales | Page 9

for him to do under the circumstances. I retraced my
steps all the way to the front of the chemist's shop, peering into every
window and doorway as I passed along. No one in the least resembling
him was to be seen.
I stood still for a moment, and reflected. Even if he had run at full
speed--a thing most unseemly for him to do--he could not have reached
the corner of Gerrard Street before I had done so. And what should he
run for? He certainly did not wish to avoid me, for he had more to tell
me before reaching home. Perhaps he had turned down Gould Street.
At any rate, there was no use waiting for him. I might as well go home
at once. And I did.
Upon reaching the old familiar spot, I opened the gate passed on up the
steps to the front door, and rang the bell. The door was opened by a
domestic who had not formed part of the establishment in my time, and
who did not know me; but Alice happened to be passing through the
hall, and heard my voice as I inquired for Uncle Richard. Another
moment and she was in my arms. With a strange foreboding at my
heart I noticed that she was in deep mourning. We passed into the
dining-room, where the table was laid for dinner.
"Has Uncle Richard come in?" I asked, as soon as we were alone.
"Why did he run away from me?"
"Who?" exclaimed Alice, with a start; "what do you mean, Willie? Is it
possible you have not heard?"
"Heard what?"
"I see you have not heard," she replied. "Sit down, Willie, and prepare
yourself for painful news. But first tell me what you meant by saying
what you did just now,--who was it that ran away from you?"
"Well, perhaps I should hardly call it running away, but he certainly
disappeared most mysteriously, down here near the corner of Yonge
and Crookshank Streets."

"Of whom are you speaking?"
"Of Uncle Richard, of course."
"Uncle Richard! The corner of Yonge and Crookshank Streets! When
did you see him there?"
"When? A quarter of an hour ago. He met me at the station and we
walked up together till I met Johnny Gray. I turned to speak to Johnny
for a moment, when--"
"Willie, what on earth are you talking about? You are labouring under
some strange delusion. Uncle Richard died of apoplexy more than six
weeks ago, and lies buried in St. James's Cemetery."

II.
I don't know how long I sat there, trying to think, with my face buried
in my hands. My mind had been kept on a strain during the last thirty
hours, and the succession of surprises to which I had been subjected
had temporarily paralyzed my faculties. For a few moments after
Alice's announcement I must have been in a sort of stupor. My
imagination, I remember, ran riot about everything in general, and
nothing in particular. My cousin's momentary impression was that I had
met with an accident of some kind, which had unhinged my brain. The
first distinct remembrance I have after this is, that I suddenly awoke
from my stupor to find Alice kneeling at my feet, and holding me by
the hand. Then my mental powers came back to me, and I recalled all
the incidents of the evening.
"When did uncle's death take place?" I asked.
"On the 3rd of November, about four o'clock in the afternoon. It was
quite unexpected, though he had not enjoyed his usual health for some
weeks before. He fell down in the hall, just as he was returning from a
walk, and died within two hours. He never spoke or recognised any one
after his seizure."

"What has become of his old overcoat?" I asked.
"His old overcoat, Willie--what a question?" replied Alice, evidently
thinking that I was again drifting back into insensibility.
"Did he continue to wear it up to the day of his death?" I asked.
"No. Cold weather set in very early this last fall, and he was compelled
to don his winter clothing earlier than usual. He had a new overcoat
made within a fortnight before he died. He had it on at the time of his
seizure. But why do you ask?"
"Was the new coat cut by a fashionable tailor, and had it a fur collar
and cuffs?"
"It was cut at Stovel's, I think. It had a fur collar and cuffs."
"When did he begin to wear a wig?"
"About the same time that he began to wear his new overcoat. I wrote
you a letter at the time, making merry over his youthful appearance and
hinting--of course only in jest--that he was looking out for a