"He's gone down there," he said. "Nice neighbourhood, too! I know something of it. Now, Mr. Perkwite, if you please, we'll separate. You take the right of that street--I'll take the left. Keep a look out for my gentleman's Homburg hat--grey, with a black band--and keep the tail of your eye on me, too." Cave's headgear was easily followed down the squalid street. Its owner went swiftly ahead, with Millwaters in pursuit on one pavement, and the barrister on the other, until he finally turned into a narrower and shabbier thoroughfare. Then the clerk hurried across the road, attracted Perkwite's attention, winked at him as he passed without checking his pace, and whispered two or three words. "Wait--by the street-corner!" Perkwite pulled up, and Millwaters went down the dismal street in pursuit of the Homburg hat. This excellent indication of its owner's presence suddenly vanished from Perkwite's sight, and presently Millwaters came back. "Ran him to earth--for the time being, anyway," he said. "He's gone into a surgery down there--a Dr. Martincole's. Number 23--brass plate on door--next to a drug-shop. Suspicious sort of spot, altogether." "Well?" demanded Perkwite. "What next? You know best, Millwaters." The clerk jerked a thumb down the side of the dismal street on which they were standing. "There's a public-house down there," he said, "almost opposite this surgery. Fairly decent place for this neighbourhood--bar-parlour looking out on the street. Better slip in there and look quietly out. But remember, Mr. Perkwite--don't seem to be watching anything. We're just going in for a bottle of ale, and talking business together. "Whatever you recommend," said Perkwite. He followed his companion down the street to the tavern, a joyless and shabby place, the bar-parlour of which, a dark and smoke-stained room was just then empty, and looked over its torn half-blind across the way. "Certainly a queer place for a man who professes to be a peer of the realm to visit!" he muttered. "Well, now, what do you propose to do, Millwaters?" "Hang about here and watch," whispered the clerk. "Look out!" A face, heavy and bloated, appeared at a hatch-window at the back of the room, and a gruff voice made itself heard. "Any orders, gents?" "Two bottles o' Bass, gov'nor," responded Millwaters promptly, dropping into colloquial Cockney speech. He turned to Perkwite and winked. "Well, an' wot abaht this 'ere bit o' business as I've come rahnd abaht, Mister?" he went on, nudging his companion, in free-and-easy style.