But shall I find the old man alive?
I doubt that.
Dead more likely, and his money gone to strangers.

I wonder whether he had much money, or whether he was really as poor as he made himself out.
It's difficult to say.

I know I made him bleed pretty freely, at one time and another, before he turned rusty; and it's just possible I may have had pretty nearly all he had to give." He was in Wardour-street by this time, looking at the dimly-lighted shops where brokers' ware of more or less value, old oak carvings, doubtful pictures, and rusted armour loomed duskily upon the passer-by.

At the corner of Queen Anne's Court he paused, and peered curiously into the narrow alley.
"The court is still here, at any rate," he muttered to himself, "and I shall soon settle the other question." His heart beat faster than it was wont to beat as he drew near his destination.

Was it any touch of real feeling, or only selfish apprehension, that quickened its throbbing?
The man's life had been so utterly reckless of others, that it would be dangerous to give him credit for any affectionate yearning--any natural remorseful pang in such a moment as this.