Peak's destination was Peckham Rye.

On quitting the railway, he had a walk of some ten minutes along a road which smelt of new bricks and stucco heated by the summer sun; an obscure passage led him into a street partly of dwelling-houses, partly of shops, the latter closed.
He paused at the side door of one over which the street lamp dimly revealed--'Button, Herbalist'.
His latch-key admitted him to total darkness, but he moved forward with the confidence of long use.

He softly ascended two flights of stairs, opened a door, struck a match, and found himself in a comfortable sitting-room, soon illumined by a reading-lamp.

The atmosphere, as throughout the house, was strongly redolent of dried simples.

Anyone acquainted with the characteristics of furnished lodgings must have surmised that Peak dwelt here among his own moveables, and was indebted to the occupier of the premises for bare walls alone; the tables and chairs, though plain enough, were such as civilisation permits; and though there were no pictures, sundry ornaments here and there made strong denial of lodging-house affinity.