And he hurried down the lane, looking out anxiously ahead for the long cloak.
At last he came to a better sort of house.

That might be it.

He would take the chance.

There was a man of the middle class, and two or three women, standing at the gate.

He went up-- "Pray, sir, did a medical man named Briggs ever live here ?" "What do you want to know for ?" "Why"-- Tom thought matters were too serious for delicacy--"I am looking for a gentleman, and thought he might have come here." "And so he did, if you mean one in a queer hat and a cloak." "How long since ?" "Why, he came up our garden an hour or more ago; walked right into the parlour without with your leave, or by your leave, and stared at us all round like one out of his mind; and so away, as soon as ever I asked him what he was at--" "Which way ?" "To the river, I expect: I ran out, and saw him go down the lane, but I was not going far by night alone with any such strange customers." "Lend me a lanthorn then, for Heaven's sake!" The lanthorn is lent, and Tom starts again down the lane.
Now to search.