More of her precious money had to be expended. A "make-up" outfit was essential, also a small theatrical touring basket, together with several other more or less expensive items. Thus by the time she had settled her final account with Mrs. Burling, there was less than two pounds in her purse with which to set forth for Glasgow. CHAPTER XVII A STRANGE INTRODUCTION TO THE PROFESSION Depositing her box at the Glasgow station left-luggage office, she set out to discover Sauchiehall Street. In this, of course, no difficulty arose, but when it came to finding the actual house--well, that appeared a total impossibility. Evarne was almost inclined to believe that she had come to Scotland on a wild-goose chase, for there seemed to exist no such address as that with which Mr. Punter had headed his letters. There was the number above and the number below the very one she required, but between them--where the house she sought would naturally have been expected to stand--was merely a piece of unused building ground. It was a forlorn, unkempt spot, with straggling grasses and weeds, amid which were piles of bricks and stone, fragments of torn paper, an old boot, and other such débris as will accumulate on waste ground, even though it be in the very centre of the principal street of a big city. As if to make it serve at least one useful purpose, there had been erected on it an enormous hoarding, covered with advertisements. Here was a regular mystery! Inquiries respecting the address she was seeking were vain. She walked anxiously up and down Sauchiehall Street, half hoping to find the missing number somehow transported from its legitimate numerical position, but all to no avail. Again and again she returned to survey the deserted site where Mr. Punter's residence _ought_ to be. Unless he camped in the shadow of the hoarding, as did one or two stray cats--a sudden thought flashed across her! Pushing past the small gate that hung partly open on its hinges, and ploughing her way through the long grass, she penetrated round to the back of the hoarding. There it was, after all--a house sure enough--partly tumbled down, it is true, with broken windows, fallen chimneys, and a general air of having been long abandoned by mankind; still, a house, even though half the roof had collapsed. More than that; close by, on a large wooden frame, hung a roughly painted theatrical drop-scene. The place was found! But what a habitation for a civilised human being! What sort of a person was Mr. Punter? Was he a gipsy--a tramp? Was he in the last stages of poverty, or merely eccentric? The girl approached the front door. Its upper half was formed of thick panels of stained glass, now cracked and broken in a dozen places, but with brown paper carefully pasted on the inner side to cover the actual holes. Knocking boldly with the end of her umbrella, Evarne waited, though half prepared to receive no answer.