It was now growing dusk, and the autumn night was closing in, so I did not lose any time.

Having learned the address of Mitchell, Sons, & Candy from a directory at the Berkeley, I was soon at their office in Sackville Street.
The gentleman who saw me was particularly suave in manner, but uncommunicative in equal proportion.

Having once told me that the Piccadilly house, which throughout our interview he called a "mansion," was sold, he considered my business as concluded.

When I asked who had purchased it, he opened his eyes a thought wider, and paused a few seconds before replying, "It is sold, sir." "Pardon me," I said, with equal politeness, "but I have a special reason for wishing to know who purchased it." Again he paused longer, and raised his eyebrows still more.

"It is sold, sir," was again his laconic reply.
"Surely," I said, "you do not mind letting me know so much." "But I do mind," he answered.