As I relit the candle, he entered my room and stood facing me, but he did not speak. His clothes were dripping and he was blinking at me with strange, gleaming eyes. His hair was snow-white, and as I looked into his face the deathly white color of it frightened me. His general appearance was more than startling; it was downright spooky.
"What can I do for you?" I asked.
Much to my surprise, he made no reply, but with a look of pain and great anxiety sank into a chair. Then he reached into his pocket and drew a letter which he held out to me. The envelope was wet and dirty. It was addressed to @Kendric Lane, North Old Broad street, London, England. That address was crossed out and "22 @Kirkland Street, Liverpool," was scribbled under it in the familiar hand of my guardian. That was strange, I thought.
