Blind George clumped down the black stair, and so reached the street of Blue Gate. At the door he paused, listening till he was satisfied of Musky Mag's movements above; then he walked a few yards along the dark street, and stopped. From a black archway across the street a man came skulking out, and over the roadway to Blind George's side. It was Viney. "Well?" he asked eagerly. "What's your luck?" Blind George swore vehemently, but quietly. "Precious little," he answered. "She dunno where 'e is. I thought at first it was kid, but it ain't. She ain't 'eard, an' she dunno. I couldn't catch hold o' the other woman, an' she got away an' never spoke. You see 'er again when she came out, didn't ye? Know 'er?" "Not me--she kept her shawl tighter about her head than ever. An' if she hadn't it ain't likely I'd know her. What now? Stand watch again? I'm sick of it." "So am I, but it's for good pay, if it comes off. Five minutes might do it. You get back, an' wait in case I tip the whistle." Viney crept growling back to his arch, and Blind George went and listened at Mag's front door for a few moments more. Then he turned into the one next it, and there waited, invisible, listening still. Five minutes went, and did not do it, and ten minutes went, and five times ten. Blue Gate lay darkling in evening, and foul shadows moved about it. From one den and another came a drawl and a yaup of drunken singing; a fog from the river dulled the lights at the Highway end, and slowly crept up the narrow way. It was near an hour since Viney and Blind George had parted, when there grew visible, coming through the mist from the Highway, the uncertain figure of a stranger: drifting dubiously from door to door, staring in at one after another, and wandering out toward the gutter to peer ahead in the gloom. Blind George could hear, as well as another could see, that here was a stranger in doubt, seeking somebody or some house. Soon the man, middle-sized, elderly, a trifle bent, and all dusty with lime, came in turn to the door where he stood; and at once Blind George stepped full against him with an exclamation and many excuses. "Beg pardon, guv'nor! Pore blind chap! 'Ope I didn't 'urt ye! Was ye wantin' anybody in this 'ouse?" The limy man looked ahead, and reckoned the few remaining doors to the end of Blue Gate. "Well," he said, "I fancy it's 'ere or next door. D'ye know a woman o' the name o' Mag--Mag Flynn?"