When Armytage and Gemma had arrived in London, he had not been a little surprised at the address where she stated some friends of hers resided. While still in the train, before she reached London, she took from her purse a soiled and carefully treasured piece of paper, whereon was written, "76, Bridge Avenue, Hammersmith"; and to this house they drove, after depositing their heavy baggage in the cloak-room. They found it a poor, wretched thoroughfare off King Street, and in the wet evening it looked grey, depressing, and unutterably miserable after the brightness of Italy. Suddenly the cab pulled up before the house indicated--a small two-storied one--but it was evident that the person they sought no longer lived there, for a board was up announcing that the house was to let. Armytage, after knocking at the door and obtaining no response, rapped at the neighbouring house, and inquired whether they were aware of the address of Mr Nenci, who had left. From the good woman who answered his inquiries he obtained the interesting fact that, owing to non-payment of the weekly rent, the landlord had a month ago seized the goods, and the foreigner, who had resided there some six months, had disappeared, and, being deeply in debt among the neighbouring small shops, had conveniently forgotten to leave his address. "Was Mr Nenci married?" asked Charlie Armytage, determined to obtain all the information he could. "Yes, sir," the woman answered. "His wife was a black-faced, scowling Italian, who each time she passed me looked as though she'd like to stick a knife into me. And all because I one day complained of 'em throwing a lot of rubbish over into my garden. My husban', 'e says 'e'd go in and talk to 'em, but I persuaded him not to. Them foreigners don't have any manners. And you should just have seen the state they left the 'ouse in! Somethin' awful, the lan'lord says." "Then you haven't the slightest idea where they've gone?" "No, sir. Back to their own country, I hope, for London's better off without such rubbish." Returning to the cab, he told Gemma of the departure of her friends, and suggested that for the present she should stay at the Hotel Victoria, in Northumberland Avenue, while he took up his bachelor quarters in Ebury Street. Therefore they drove back again to Charing Cross; and having seen her comfortably installed in the hotel, he drove to his own rooms. He had written to his housekeeper from Paris, and on entering his cosy little flat, with its curiously decorated rooms with their Moorish lounges and hangings, found a bright fire, a comfortable chair ready placed for him, his spirit-stand and a syphon of soda ready to hand, and Mrs Wright, his housekeeper, welcoming him back cordially, and expressing the hope that his journey had been a pleasant one. Having deposited his bag, he washed, dressed, swallowed a whisky-and-soda, and drove back to the Victoria, where he dined with his well-beloved.