Fortunately the papers were too occupied with the Camden Town mystery to take any notice of a mere suicide in an unoccupied house, hence no public curiosity had been aroused, and I was able to pursue my nocturnal vigils without let or hindrance.
Thring had buried his brother and returned, therefore I had gone back to my own practice in Cromwell Road, and each evening, after I had seen the last of my patients, I changed my attire and took a taxi up to St. John's Wood to continue my weary watch.
It was a mere toss-up. I might succeed, if only my usual good luck would follow me. But there were a great many chances against me.
By Jove! I was desperately hard-up at the time. The fine pearl pin I wore in my cravat only cost half a crown and my emerald ring—the one you admired so much one day—was bought for a sovereign. All the little bits of jewellery I possessed had gone to safe keeping.
Really, I don't know what our most honourable profession is coming to when a hard-working man like myself—and a favourite among the ladies—can't get a living. If it had not been for my trusty little hypodermic I should have gone under long ago.
