The Wharf by the Docks | Page 7

part: only the result of too much leisure and too much money in
inexperienced hands. The upshot of this difference of opinion between
father and son was that while Mr. Wedmore was always finding
mercantile situations for his son, Max was always taking care to be
thrown out of them after a few weeks, and taking a rest which was by
no means well earned.
This errand of his sister's was by no means unwelcome to him, since it
took him back to town, where he could amuse himself better than he
could in the country.
So, on the following morning, he found some sort of excuse to take him
up, and started on his journey with the blessings of Doreen, and with
very little opposition from his father, who was subdued and thankful to
have got rid of Dudley with so little trouble.
It was soon after three when Max arrived at Dudley Horne's chambers
in Lincoln's Inn. Of course, Dudley was out; so Max scribbled a note
for his friend and left it on the table while he went to the Law Courts to
look for him. Not finding him anywhere about, Max filled up the day in
his own fashion, and returned to Dudley's room at about seven o'clock,
when he supposed that his friend would either return to dinner or look
in on his way to dine elsewhere.
He waited an hour, then went away and filled up his time at a

music-hall, and returned once more at a quarter to eleven. Dudley, so
he was told by the old woman who gave him the information, had not,
as far as she knew, been in his rooms since the morning.
Max, who was a great friend of Dudley's, and could take any liberty he
pleased in his precincts, lit the gas and the sitting-room fire, and
installed himself in an arm-chair with a book. He could not read,
however, for he was oppressed by some of Doreen's own fears. He was
well acquainted with all his friend's ways, and he knew that for him to
be away both from his chambers and from the neighborhood of the
Courts for a whole day was most unusual with that particularly steady,
plodding young man. He began to worry himself with the remembrance
that Dudley had not been himself of late, that he had been moody,
restless and unsettled without apparent cause.
Finally, Max worked himself into such a state of anxiety about his
friend that when he at last heard the key turned in the lock of the outer
door, he jumped up excitedly and made a rush for the door.
Before he reached it, however, he heard footsteps in the adjoining
bedroom, the heavy tread of a man stumbling about in the dark, the
overthrowing of some of the furniture.
Surely that could not be Dudley!
Max stood still at the door, listening. He thought it might be a thief who
had got hold of the key of the chambers.
As he stood still, close by the wall, the door which led from the one
room to the other was thrown open from the bedroom, almost touching
him as it fell back; and there staggered into the sitting-room, into the
light thrown by the gas and the fire, a figure which Max could scarcely
recognize as Dudley Horne. His face was the grayish white of the dead;
his eyes were glassy; his lips were parted; while the grime of a London
fog had left its black marks round his mouth and eyes, giving him an
appearance altogether diabolical. He was shaking like a leaf as he
stumbled against a chair and suddenly wheeled round to the light.

Then, unbuttoning his overcoat quickly, he looked down at his clothes
underneath. He passed his hand over them and held it in the light, with
a shudder.
Max uttered a sharp cry.
The stain on Dudley's hand, the wet patches which glistened on his
dark clothes, were stains of blood.

CHAPTER III.
DUDLEY EXPLAINS.
As the cry of horror escaped the lips of Max, Dudley wheeled quickly
round and met his eyes.
For a moment the two men stood staring at each other without uttering
a word. It seemed to Max that his friend did not recognize him; that he
looked like a hunted man brought to bay by his pursuer, with the furtive
expression in his eyes of a creature trying to devise some means of
escape.
It was the most shocking experience that Max had ever known, and the
blood seemed to freeze in his veins as he stood by the table watching
his friend, trying to conjure back a smile to his own face and look of
welcome into his own eyes.
He found his voice at last.