Syme had never seen any of the sky-scraping buildings in America, so he could only think of the buildings in a dream.
Even as he stared, the highest light in this innumerably lighted turret abruptly went out, as if this black Argus had winked at him with one of his innumerable eyes.
Professor de Worms swung round on his heel, and struck his stick against his boot.
"We are too late," he said, "the hygienic Doctor has gone to bed." "What do you mean ?" asked Syme.

"Does he live over there, then ?" "Yes," said de Worms, "behind that particular window which you can't see.

Come along and get some dinner.

We must call on him tomorrow morning." Without further parley, he led the way through several by-ways until they came out into the flare and clamour of the East India Dock Road.
The Professor, who seemed to know his way about the neighbourhood, proceeded to a place where the line of lighted shops fell back into a sort of abrupt twilight and quiet, in which an old white inn, all out of repair, stood back some twenty feet from the road.
"You can find good English inns left by accident everywhere, like fossils," explained the Professor.

"I once found a decent place in the West End." "I suppose," said Syme, smiling, "that this is the corresponding decent place in the East End ?" "It is," said the Professor reverently, and went in.
In that place they dined and slept, both very thoroughly.