Instead of making for the railway station, to take a train back to Dudley, he crossed from the northern to the southern extremity of the town, and by ten o'clock was in one of the streets which lead out of Moseley Road.

Here, at a house such as lodges young men in business, he made inquiry for "Mr.Narramore," and was forthwith admitted.
Robert Narramore, a long-stemmed pipe at his lips, sat by the fireside; on the table lay the materials of a satisfactory supper--a cold fowl, a ham, a Stilton cheese, and a bottle of wine.
"Hollo! You ?" he exclaimed, without rising.

"I was going to write to you; thanks for saving me the trouble.

Have something to eat ?" "Yes, and to drink likewise." "Do you mind ringing the bell?
I believe there's a bottle of Burgundy left.

If not, plenty of Bass." He stretched forth a languid hand, smiling amiably.