But who was this approaching?
Of all unwelcome people at this moment, hanged if it wasn't Greenacre! What did the fellow want here?
He was staring about him as if to make sure of an address.

Worse than that, he stepped up to the private door of the coffee-tavern and rang the bell.
Shrinking aside into darkness, Gammon felt a shiver of unaccountable apprehension, which was quickly followed by a thrill of angry annoyance.

What did this mean?
The door had opened, Greenacre was admitted.

What the devil did this mean?
If it wasn't enough to make a fellow want to wring another fellow's neck! He waited thirty seconds, thinking it was five minutes, then went to the door, rang, and entered.
"Who came in just now, miss ?" "The gentleman for the young lydy, sir." "By jorrocks!" Gammon mounted the stairs at break-neck speed and burst into the private sitting-room.

There stood Polly, with her head up, looking pert indignation and surprise, and before her stood Greenacre, discoursing in his politest tone.
"What are you doing here ?" asked Gammon breathlessly.