The voluble young
lady herself, following some half-a-dozen yards behind, forgot her
wrongs in contemplation of the stranger's back. There was this that
was peculiar about the stranger's back: that instead of being flat it
presented a decided curve. "It ain't a 'ump, and it don't look like
kervitcher of the spine," observed the voluble young lady to herself.
"Blimy if I don't believe 'e's taking 'ome 'is washing up his back."
The constable at the corner, trying to seem busy doing nothing,
noticed the stranger's approach with gathering interest. "That's an
odd sort of a walk of yours, young man," thought the constable. "You
take care you don't fall down and tumble over yourself."
"Thought he was a young man," murmured the constable, the stranger
having passed him. "He had a young face right enough."
The daylight was fading. The stranger, finding it impossible to read
the name of the street upon the corner house, turned back.
"Why, 'tis a young man," the constable told himself; "a mere boy."
"I beg your pardon," said the stranger; "but would you mind telling me
my way to Bloomsbury Square."
"This is Bloomsbury Square," explained the constable; "leastways round
the corner is. What number might you be wanting?"
The stranger took from the ticket pocket of his tightly buttoned
overcoat a piece of paper, unfolded it and read it out: "Mrs.
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