He neither swore nor looked black; his was the anxiety of a man who has some grave interest at stake wherein the better part of his nature is concerned.
At five o'clock he took a cab, and went off to Waymark's lodgings in Chelsea.

Here he learned that Waymark had left home at the usual time, and had not yet returned.

Just as he was speaking with the landlady at the door, another gentleman came up on the same errand.

Mr.Woodstock remembered Julian Casti, and held out his hand to him.

Casti looked ill; his handsome features had wasted, and his fair complexion was turned to a dull, unhealthy, yellowish hue.