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Updated: June 26, 2025
Soon afterward Malling was walking in the afternoon down Pall Mall, wondering deeply what would happen, whether the rector would ever start on that voyage, when he came upon Professor Stepton sidling out of the Athenaeum. "Heard about Harding?" jerked out the professor. "Yes. Has he sailed for Australia?" "Dead. Died at half-past three o'clock this morning." Malling turned cold.
"Professor," it seemed to Stepton at this moment as if Chichester's voice loomed upon him out of the darkness by which they were now enshrouded, "it has been said that nothing shocks a man so terribly as the sight of his body-double; that to see what appears to be himself, even if only standing at a window or sitting before a fire, causes in a man a physical horror which seems to strike to the very roots of his physical being.
He turned toward the window as if anxious to hide his face from the professor's small, keen eyes. "I saw that man," he continued, in a withdrawn and husky voice, and still looking away. Stepton sat motionless and silent, sidewise, with his arms hanging. Chichester, after another long pause, again faced him. "My very first impression was unfavorable.
"Certainly." "I will send it, then. Good night." "I'll come down with you." The professor let Chichester out. The rain was still falling in torrents. Shrouded in his mackintosh, protected by his umbrella, the curate walked away. Looking after him, Stepton thought: "Very odd! It isn't only in the face.
So that minute fraction of the world that knew of the existence of the Hardings began to utter itself concerning them, and Malling was fortified in his original belief which he had expressed to Professor Stepton.
Joseph's, if he Malling found himself walking in thick darkness, he meant to bring Stepton into the matter, whether at Stepton's desire or against it. Meanwhile he would see if there was enlightenment in Hornton Street. On the Wednesday the spell of fine weather which had made London look strangely vivacious broke up, and in the evening rain fell with a gentle persistence.
I want you to break the link that binds him to Henry Chichester if there is one. I want you to effect his release." "I'm afraid you've come to the wrong man," returned Stepton, dryly. "My object in entering into this matter is merely to increase my knowledge, not to destroy my chance of increasing it." "But surely "
Then he said: "I might walk a little way back with you, if you have no objection." Stepton jerked his head in assent. And so the acquaintance of these two men was begun. Their first conversation was a delight to the professor. After a short silence the curate said: "I could not help seeing each time we have met how your attention was fastened upon me."
The Rossetti Madonna, thin, anemic, with hanging hair, seemed fading away on the somber, green wall. The window-panes looked spectral and white. The faint murmur of the city sounded a little deeper and much sadder than in the light of day. Stepton was aware of a furtive but strong desire for artificial light in the room, but he did not choose to mention it.
Perhaps it was that movement which finally decided the curate to speak. "Professor," he said, "I don't want you to go yet." "Why not?" jerked out Stepton, with one hand on the door-knob. "You collect 'cases. I have a case for you. You are a skeptic: you say men should be brought to faith by facts. Sit down. I will give you some facts."
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