— XL —THE EIGHT
When Mr. Smithers returned to consciousness, he first became aware of two things. One was, that he was sopping wet; the other, that, regarding him with a malignant grin, was the hideous and evil countenance of the n***o he had wounded. The cause of his being wet was made immediately apparent by the fact that, so soon as his eyes were opened, a quantity of ice-cold water was dashed into his face. It was thrown with such force that it not only blinded him, but it also deprived him for a second of his just returning breath. So soon as he could, he turned his head to see who was the cause of the outrage. A man was standing a foot or two away from him, holding an empty zinc pail. He recognised him.
“I’ve seen you before. You’re the man who spoke to me in Chancery Lane.”
Mr. H
