It was now one o'clock, and the newsboys were shouting out the early editions of the evening newspapers, for if there is one thing upon which modern journalism especially prides itself, it is that it can take time by the forelock and can hurry the rising and the setting of the sun. In these shouts and cries Dr. Vinsen--still lingering with the uncertain air upon him by which his previous movements had been distinguished--appeared to take great interest, listening to them intently and scanning such portions of the contents-bills carried by the boys as were visible in the midst of the hurly-burly. The familiar cry of "The Great Catchpole Square Mystery!" was as potent a bait as ever to purchasers, among whom Dr. Vinsen was not the least eager. Gracie saw on the contents-bills such headlines as "Emphatic Statement of Mr. Reginald Boyd," "The Coroner's Reproof to the Juryman," and "Mrs. Abel Death under examination," and she herself expended a halfpenny in literature, but did not stop to read the paper, her whole attention being required to watch her game and to elude detection. At the corner of Parliament Street Dr. Vinsen entered a bus that crossed Westminster Bridge. There was no room on the roof for Gracie, and she dared not get inside, so she ran along the pavement, her breath coming thick and fast; there was plenty of space in this wide thoroughfare for the vehicle to put on a spurt, and the horses galloped smartly on. Luckily for Gracie there was a stoppage at the top of Parliament Street to enable passengers to get in and out, and she could recover her breath; and when the omnibus started again the traffic on the bridge was crowded, so that she trotted along quite comfortably, and had no difficulty in keeping her game in view. At the end of the bridge Dr. Vinsen got out and sauntered on past St. George's Hospital and the shabby old site of Astley's Theatre, haunted by memories of Ducrow and Ada Menken--names strange to the rising generation, though once upon a time they made all London ring--and past a medley of mean shops, till, on the opposite side of the road, he called a halt before a warehouse where portmanteaus and travelling trunks were manufactured.