Gilbert Lloyd with some difficulty--for in the dingy passage there was but little light even on that bright summer morning--read this description, and in obedience to its suggestion pulled the right-hand bell. The sound of the bell, vibrating loudly, apparently had the effect of putting a sudden stop to a muttered conversation of a groaning character, which had been dimly audible; the door was opened by a spring from the inside, and Gilbert entered. He found himself in a low-ceilinged dirty room, with no other furniture than a couple of chairs and a very rickety deal table. The windows were covered more than half-way up with blinds improvised out of old newspapers; a clock with one hand was on the wall; an almanac, much ink-scored and pin-marked, stood on the mantel-shelf; and a limp map of Great Britain, evidently torn out of an ancient _Bradshaw_, was pinned behind the door. At first, on entering, Gilbert Lloyd thought himself the sole occupant of the room; but when his eyes had become accustomed to the partial darkness, he discovered someone rubbing himself against the wall at the opposite end of the room, and apparently trying to squeeze himself through into the next house. A little hard looking at and careful study made him out a very thin, small, white-faced young man, with hollow cheeks, a sharp face, and a keen restless eye. As Gilbert's glance fell on him, or rather, as he seemed to feel it fall on him, he shook himself with an odd restless motion, as though to endeavour to get rid of some spell of fascination, but evidently desired to keep as much as possible in the background. The groaning, smothered conversation meanwhile had recommenced in another quarter, and Gilbert, looking round, noticed a door evidently leading into an inner room. "Is this Mr. Gammidge's office?" he asked abruptly of the white-faced young man. The white-faced young man gave a sudden start, as though a pin had been run into him, but never spoke. "Mr. Gammidge's office--is this Mr. Gammidge's office?" repeated Gilbert. "I--I believe so," said the white-faced young man, taken aback by the sharpness of the key in which the inquiry was made. "I have no reason to think it's not." "Where is Mr. Gammidge?" "Not in!" Wonderfully sharp and pert came this reply; constant lying in one groove oils the tongue so splendidly. "Not in?" echoed Gilbert half savagely. "Not in! Sure to be in later in the day. Got most important business on just now for--" "Stow it!" The words came not from the white-faced young man, nor from Gilbert, but yet they were perfectly audible.