he had no knowledge as to the doings of Hugh Boone, his lodger, and
that he could not account in any way for the presence of the missing
gentleman s clothes.
So much for the Lascar manager. Now for the sinister cripple who lives
upon the second floor of the opium den, and who was certainly the last
human being whose eyes rested upon Neville St. Clair. His name is Hugh
Boone, and his hideous face is one which is familiar to every man who
goes much to the City. He is a professional beggar, though in order to
avoid the police regulations he pretends to a small trade in wax
vestas. Some little distance down Threadneedle Street, upon the
left-hand side, there is, as you may have remarked, a small angle in
the wall. Here it is that this creature takes his daily seat,
cross-legged with his tiny stock of matches on his lap, and as he is a
piteous spectacle a small rain of charity descends into the greasy
leather cap which lies upon the pavement beside him. I have watched the
fellow more than once before ever I thought of making his professional
acquaintance, and I have been surprised at the harvest which he has
reaped in a short time. His appearance, you see, is so remarkable that
no one can pass him without observing him. A shock of orange hair, a
pale face disfigured by a horrible scar, which, by its contraction, has
turned up the outer edge of his upper lip, a bulldog chin, and a pair
of very penetrating dark eyes, which present a singular contrast to the
colour of his hair, all mark him out from amid the common crowd of
mendicants and so, too, does his wit, for he is ever ready with a reply
to any piece of chaff which may be thrown at him by the passers-by.
This is the man whom we now learn to have been the lodger at the opium
den, and to have been the last man to see the gentleman of whom we are
in quest.
But a cripple! said I. What could he have done single-handed against
a man in the prime of life?
He is a cripple in the sense that he walks with a limp; but in other
respects he appears to be a powerful and well-nurtured man. Surely your
medical experience would tell you, Watson, that weakness in one limb is
often compensated for by exceptional strength in the others.
Pray continue your narrative.
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