In the lunch interval he went round to the Arts Club and asked the grubby boy if the drawings had been found. The grubby boy made an effort of memory and said that he seemed to recollect Mr. Lawrie going off with something under his arm that night. Yes; it was a big, square thing, because he had put Mr. Lawrie into a cab and it fell on to the floor, and he picked it up and laid it on Mr. Lawrie's knees. Frederic gave the boy a penny, got Mr. Lawrie's address, and, as soon as he could get away in the evening went down to his house. It was one of a terrace of four stucco houses with Gothic windows. It stood at the corner, and a little bye-street led down one side of it to a slum. It had a little raised lawn, two laurel trees and a privet hedge in front of it, and a wide asphalt path led up to the front door, which lay far back in a huge gloomy porch. The windows looked out on to another row of stucco houses with a shop at the corner which for the time being was a laundry. Opposite the laundry was a public-house. Two streets met a few yards along the road, and in the cleft of them was a large red-brick house with its garden gate gleaming with brass plates. Here lived Dr. Haslam, the father of the spotty-faced youth. Frederic gave a long tug at the bell and stood looking stupidly at the door, the lower panels of which were scratched and dented with heavy kicks. A large tabby cat came and rubbed herself against his legs. Presently the latch was drawn and the door was opened about six inches, and in the aperture there appeared a long bony face, incredibly lined and wrinkled, and in it two burning-sorrowful eyes. The mouth of this face opened, and out of it came a toneless mournful voice saying: "What is it?" "Is Mr. Lawrie in?" asked Frederic. "He is. But he's busy. Are ye from the office? We'll be ready in ten minutes." "I want to see Mr. Lawrie most particularly on a private matter." "Ye cannot see him." "I must." "What name?" "Folyat. Mr. Frederic Folyat." "I'll see." The door was closed to and Frederic, left with the cat, stood trying to quiet the omen at his heart. A very pale young man came through the gate and walked up the asphalt path and came into the porch. He looked at Frederic shyly and stood as far away from him as possible. There was an awkward moment until he said: "Have you rung?" "Yes." "She's a bit slow. She's got rheumatism in her feet. I know you, but you don't know me. I've seen you at your father's church. My name's Bennett Lawrie. I'm in business. It's beastly." "Do you often go to our church?" "I go to all the High Churches, when I can get away. I wanted to be a clergyman, but I suppose I never shall be now." "You'd better come and see us. We have supper on Sundays for anybody who likes to come." "I'd just love to know your father." "I want to see _your_ father." "Oh! _My_ father!"