In the "hall" he would encounter a rickety hat-stand faced by an ancient print entitled "Idle Hours," and depicting two ladies, reclining on rocks, attired in tremendous skirts, tight jackets, and diminutive straw hats perched between their forehead and chignons--in the middle distance a fat urchin, all hat and frills, staring stupidly at the ocean.
In the front sitting-room he would encounter horse-hair chairs, frayed carpet, and more early Victorian prints; in the back sitting-room more frayed carpet, more prints, and possibly a bed.
Nothing very mysterious or awe-inspiring about 37 Middle Street, yet the barrister was loth to leave the place.

The scent of the chase was in his nostrils.

He had "found." He was tempted to boldly approach and frame some excuse--a hunt for lodgings, an inquiry for a missing friend, anything to gain admittance and learn something, however meagre in result, of the occupants.
He reviewed the facts calmly.

To attempt, at such an hour, to glean information from the sharp-tongued young person who had just admitted herself with a latchkey, was to court failure and suspicion.

He must bide his time.