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"
Yes
;
but
all
this
time
he
may
be
dying
,
and
when
we
get
there
it
may
be
too
late
to
do
anything
.
"
"
Sit
still
and
let
us
think
,
"
I
said
impatiently
.
The
only
address
I
knew
was
the
Hotel
des
Belges
,
but
Strickland
had
long
left
that
,
and
they
would
have
no
recollection
of
him
.
With
that
queer
idea
of
his
to
keep
his
whereabouts
secret
,
it
was
unlikely
that
,
on
leaving
,
he
had
said
where
he
was
going
.
Besides
,
it
was
more
than
five
years
ago
.
I
felt
pretty
sure
that
he
had
not
moved
far
.
If
he
continued
to
frequent
the
same
cafe
as
when
he
had
stayed
at
the
hotel
,
it
was
probably
because
it
was
the
most
convenient
.
Suddenly
I
remembered
that
he
had
got
his
commission
to
paint
a
portrait
through
the
baker
from
whom
he
bought
his
bread
,
and
it
struck
me
that
there
one
might
find
his
address
.
I
called
for
a
directory
and
looked
out
the
bakers
.
There
were
five
in
the
immediate
neighbourhood
,
and
the
only
thing
was
to
go
to
all
of
them
.
Stroeve
accompanied
me
unwillingly
.
His
own
plan
was
to
run
up
and
down
the
streets
that
led
out
of
the
Avenue
de
Clichy
and
ask
at
every
house
if
Strickland
lived
there
.
My
commonplace
scheme
was
,
after
all
,
effective
,
for
in
the
second
shop
we
asked
at
the
woman
behind
the
counter
acknowledged
that
she
knew
him
.
She
was
not
certain
where
he
lived
,
but
it
was
in
one
of
the
three
houses
opposite
.
Luck
favoured
us
,
and
in
the
first
we
tried
the
concierge
told
us
that
we
should
find
him
on
the
top
floor
.
"
It
appears
that
he
’
s
ill
,
"
said
Stroeve
.
"
It
may
be
,
"
answered
the
concierge
indifferently
.
"
En
effet
,
I
have
not
seen
him
for
several
days
.
"
Stroeve
ran
up
the
stairs
ahead
of
me
,
and
when
I
reached
the
top
floor
I
found
him
talking
to
a
workman
in
his
shirt
-
sleeves
who
had
opened
a
door
at
which
Stroeve
had
knocked
.
He
pointed
to
another
door
.
He
believed
that
the
person
who
lived
there
was
a
painter
.
He
had
not
seen
him
for
a
week
.
Stroeve
made
as
though
he
were
about
to
knock
,
and
then
turned
to
me
with
a
gesture
of
helplessness
.
I
saw
that
he
was
panic
-
stricken
.
"
Supposing
he
’
s
dead
?
"
"
Not
he
,
"
I
said
.
I
knocked
.
There
was
no
answer
.
I
tried
the
handle
,
and
found
the
door
unlocked
.
I
walked
in
,
and
Stroeve
followed
me
.
The
room
was
in
darkness
.
I
could
only
see
that
it
was
an
attic
,
with
a
sloping
roof
;
and
a
faint
glimmer
,
no
more
than
a
less
profound
obscurity
,
came
from
a
skylight
.
