"It's the first time I've heard of anything belonging to him
turning out any use," said Mrs. Horlick, bitterly.
"What! the spoiled old neck-handkerchief belonged to your
husband, did it?" said I, at a venture.
"Yes; I pitched his rotten rag of a neck-'andkercher into the
bundle along with the rest, and I wish I could have pitched him
in after it," said Mrs. Horlick. "I'd sell him cheap at any
ragshop. There he stands, smoking his pipe at the end of the
Mews, out of work for weeks past, the idlest humpbacked pig in
all London!"
She pointed to the man whom I had passed on entering the Mews. My
cheeks began to burn and my knees to tremble, for I knew that in
tracing the cravat to its owner I was advancing a step toward a
fresh discovery. I wished Mrs. Horlick good evening, and said I
would write and mention the day on which I wanted her.
What I had just been told put a thought into my mind that I was
afraid to follow out. I have heard people talk of being
light-headed, and I felt as I have heard them say they felt when
I retraced my steps up the Mews. My head got giddy, and my eyes
seemed able to see nothing but the figure of the little
crook-backed man, still smoking his pipe in his former place. I
could see nothing but that; I could think of nothing but the mark
of the blow on my poor lost Mary's temple.
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