She hesitated a moment, and then went up.

At the top another closed door met her, with _The Consul_ painted in black letters on the part of it that consisted of ground glass somewhat the worse for pencil-points and finger-nails.

Elfrida lifted her hand to knock, then changed her mind and opened the door.
It was a small room lined on two sides with deal compartments bulging with dusty papers.

There were two or three shelves of uninteresting-looking books, and a desk which extended into a counter.

The upper panes of the window were ragged with cobwebs, and the air of the place was redolent of stale publications.