re oldish, and very narrow, so that a good
many were packed into the short length; the pavement was narrow, too,
and so were the windows; they, for the most part, were carefully
draped with curtains of doubtful hue. Some were further guarded from
prying eyes by sort of gridirons, politely called balconies, though,
since the platform had been forgotten, and only the protecting
railings were there hard up against the glass, the name was deceptive.

The hansom came slowly down the street, the driver scanning the
frequent doors for 31. He overlooked it by reason of the fact that the
number had been rubbed off, but finally located it by discovering most
of the numbers above and below. Rawson-Clew got out and rang. In
course of time--rather a long time--the door was opened to him by the
landlady--that same landlady who had confided to Mr. Gillat the
desirability of having a good standing with the butcher.

"Cap'ain Polkington?" she said, in answer to Rawson-Clew's inquiry. "I
don't know whether he's in or not; you'd better go up and see; one of
'em's there, anyhow."

She stood back against the wall, and Rawson-Clew came in.

"Up-stairs," she said; "second door you come to."

With that she went down to the kitchen regions; she was no respecter
of persons, and she thanked God she had plenty of her own business to
mind, and never troubled herself poking into other people's.
Consequently, though she might wonder what a man of Rawson-Clew's
appearance should want with her lodgers, she did not let it interfere
with her work, or take the edge off her tongue in the heated argument
she held with the milkman, who came directly after.

Rawson-Clew found his way up the stairs; they were steep, and had
rather the appearance of having been omitted in the original plan of
the house, and squeezed in as an afterthought, when it was found
really impossible to do without. There was no window to give light to
them, or air either; hence, no doubt, the antiquity of the flavour of
cabbage and fried bacon with hung about them. But Rawson-Clew, when he
ascended, found the second door without trouble; there was not room to
get lost. He knocked; he half expected to hear Julia's voice; it
seemed to him probable that she was the person referred to as "one of
them." But it was a man who bade him enter, and, unless his memory
played him false, not Captain Polkington.

It was not the Captain, it was Johnny Gillat. He was reading the
newspaper--Capta