"Lawyer Bellairs?" said the old woman; "gone East this
morning. There's Lawyer Dean next block up."
I did not trouble Lawyer Dean, but walked slowly back
to my hotel, ruminating as I went. The image of the
old woman washing that desecrated stair had struck my
fancy; it seemed that all the water-supply of the city
and all the soap in the State would scarce suffice to
cleanse it, it had been so long a clearing-house of
dingy secrets and a factory of sordid fraud. And now
the corner was untenanted; some judge, like a careful
housewife, had knocked down the web; and the bloated
spider was scuttling elsewhere after new victims. I
had of late (as I have said) insensibly taken sides
with Carthew; now, when his enemy was at his heels, my
interest grew more warm; and I began to wonder if I
could not help. The drama of the FLYING SCUD was
entering on a new phase. It had been singular from the
first: it promised an extraordinary conclusion; and I,
who had paid so much to learn the beginning, might pay
a little more and see the end.
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