It was plain that this degree of tension could not last long.
It was my first care to go to George Street, which I reached (by good luck) as a boy was taking down the bank shutters.

A man was conversing with him; he had white stockings and a moleskin waistcoat, and was as ill-looking a rogue as you would want to see in a day's journey.

This seemed to agree fairly well with Rowley's _signalement_: he had declared emphatically (if you remember), and had stuck to it besides, that the companion of the great Lavender was no beauty.
Thence I made my way to Mr.Robbie's, where I rang the bell.

A servant answered the summons, and told me the lawyer was engaged, as I had half expected.
'Wha shall I say was callin' ?' she pursued; and when I had told her 'Mr.
Ducie,' 'I think this'll be for you, then ?' she added, and handed me a letter from the hall table.

It ran: 'DEAR MR.