He passed an
occasional policeman and slunk away from the penetrating bull's-eye.
He heard now and then the far-off rattle of a cab, the shrill cry of
a whistle, the howl of a butler summoning a vehicle, the coo of a cook
bidding good-night to the young tradesman whom she loved before the area
gate. And all these familiar London sounds struck strangely on his ear.
When would he hear them again? Perhaps never. He stumbled on blinded
with emotion.
Dogs, we know are guided by a strange instinct to find their homes even
by unfamiliar paths. Pigeons will fly across wide spaces and drop down
to the wicker cage that awaits them. And it would appear that prophets
are not without a certain faculty that may be called topographical. For
how else can the following fact be explained? Malkiel the Second, after
apparently endless wandering, found himself totally unable to proceed
further. His legs gave way beneath him. His breath failed. His brain
swam. He reeled, stretched forth his hands and clutched at the nearest
support. This chanced to be a railing, wet, slimy, cold. He grasped it,
leaned against it, and for a few moments remained where he was in a sort
of trance.
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