Havill remembered how the lad had pointed to his breast, and said that his secret was literally kept there.

The architect was too much of a provincial to have quenched the common curiosity that was part of his nature by the acquired metropolitan indifference to other people's lives which, in essence more unworthy even than the former, causes less practical inconvenience in its exercise.
Dare was breathing profoundly.

Instigated as above mentioned, Havill got out of bed and stood beside the sleeper.

After a moment's pause he gently pulled back the unfastened collar of Dare's nightshirt and saw a word tattooed in distinct characters on his breast.

Before there was time for Havill to decipher it Dare moved slightly, as if conscious of disturbance, and Havill hastened back to bed.