Yes, I think I shall go and have a look at him, at all events.' Gilbert finished his meal and walked back to the factory.

Groups of men were standing about in the sunshine, waiting for the bell to ring; some talked and joked, some amused themselves with horse-play.

The narrow street was redolent with oleaginous matter; the clothing of the men was penetrated with the same nauseous odour.
At a little distance from the factory, Ackroyd was sitting on a door-step, smoking a pipe.

Grail took a seat beside him and drew from his pocket the letter he had just received.
'I've got one of them, too,' Luke observed with small show of interest.
There was an unaccustomed gloom on his face; he puffed at his pipe rather sullenly.
'Who has told him our names and addresses ?' Gilbert asked.
'Bower, no doubt.' 'But how comes Bower to know anything about me ?' 'Oh, I've mentioned you sometimes.' 'Well, do you think of going ?' 'No, I shan't go.

It isn't at all in my line.' Gilbert became silent.
'Something the matter ?' he asked presently, as his companion puffed on in the same gloomy way.
'A bit of a headache, that's all.' His tone was unusual.