" He wrote a good bit at the wash-stand, and, from the loose
sheets of manuscript he left, I believe actually tried to begin a
play. But mostly he wandered along the water-front, or stood on one
or another of the bridges, looking at the water and thinking. It is
certain that he tried to keep in the part by smoking cigarettes, but
he hated them, and usually ended by throwing the cigarette away and
lighting an old pipe he carried.
On that Thursday evening he came home and sat down to supper with
Mr. Reynolds. He ate little and seemed much excited. The talk ran on
crime, as it always did when he was around, and Mr. Holcombe quoted
Spencer a great deal--Herbert Spencer. Mr. Reynolds was impressed, not
knowing much beyond silks and the National League.
"Spencer," Mr. Holcombe would say--"Spencer shows that every
occurrence is the inevitable result of what has gone before, and
carries in its train an equally inevitable series of results. Try to
interrupt this chain in the smallest degree, and what follows? Chaos,
my dear sir, chaos.
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