He got out at Charing Cross, choosing it in preference to his more usual
St. James's Park, that he might reach Jermyn Street by better lighted
ways.
On the platform his eyes--for in combination with a composed and
fashionable appearance, George had sharp eyes, and was always on the
look-out for fillips to his sardonic humour--his eyes were attracted
by a man, who, leaping from a first-class compartment, staggered rather
than walked towards the exit.
'So ho, my bird!' said George to himself; 'why, it's "the Buccaneer!"'
and he put his big figure on the trail. Nothing afforded him greater
amusement than a drunken man.
Bosinney, who wore a slouch hat, stopped in front of him, spun around,
and rushed back towards the carriage he had just left. He was too late.
A porter caught him by the coat; the train was already moving on.
George's practised glance caught sight of the face of a lady clad in
a grey fur coat at the carriage window. It was Mrs. Soames--and George
felt that this was interesting!
And now he followed Bosinney more closely than ever--up the stairs, past
the ticket collector into the street. In that progress, however, his
feelings underwent a change; no longer merely curious and amused, he
felt sorry for the poor fellow he was shadowing. 'The Buccaneer' was not
drunk, but seemed to be acting under the stress of violent emotion; he
was talking to himself, and all that George could catch were the words
"Oh, God!" Nor did he appear to know what he was doing, or where going;
but stared, hesitated, moved like a man out of his mind; and from being
merely a joker in search of amusement, George felt that he must see the
poor chap through.
He had 'taken the knock'--'taken the knock!' And he wondered what on
earth Mrs. Soames had been saying, what on earth she had been telling
him in the railway carriage. She had looked bad enough herself! It made
George sorry to think of her travelling on with her trouble all alone.
He followed close behind Bosinney's elbow--tall, burly figure, saying
nothing, dodging warily--and shadowed him out into the fog.
There was something here beyond a jest! He kept his head admirably, in
spite of some excitement, for in addition to compassion, the instincts
of the chase were roused within him.
Bosinney walked right out into the thoroughfare--a vast muffled
blackness, where a man could not see six paces before him; where, all
around, voices or whistles mocked the sense of direction; and sudden
shapes came rolling slow upon them; and now and then a light showed like
a dim island in an infinite dark sea.