All day I turned these facts over in my mind, endeavouring to
hit some theory which could reconcile them all, and to find that
line of least resistance which my poor friend had declared to be
the starting-point of every investigation. I confess that I made
little progress. In the evening I strolled across the Park, and
found myself about six o'clock at the Oxford Street end of Park
Lane. A group of loafers upon the pavements, all staring up at a
particular window, directed me to the house which I had come to
see. A tall, thin man with coloured glasses, whom I strongly
suspected of being a plain-clothes detective, was pointing out
some theory of his own, while the others crowded round to listen
to what he said. I got as near him as I could, but his observations
seemed to me to be absurd, so I withdrew again in some disgust.
As I did so I struck against an elderly, deformed man, who had
been behind me, and I knocked down several books which he
was carrying. I remember that as I picked them up, I observed
the title of one of them, The Origin of Tree Worship, and it
struck me that the fellow must be some poor bibliophile, who,
either as a trade or as a hobby, was a collector of obscure
volumes.
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