London terrified me after the long silence of the prison; I was afraid of it. More than that, I discovered that I had forgotten my brief experience of it; so that I should have been unable, even had it been necessary, to find my way to the old rooms in the little street off Holborn, wherein I had dreamed my brief dreams, and wherein the Law had so suddenly gripped me, and swept me out of the world twenty years before. But I had this man for guide--this man who had been my guardian, and was now, as it seemed, my friend; I could only cling to him, with some measure of gratitude in my heart that he should have remembered me at all, and have come to my rescue when I was once more flung upon the world. I gathered that he was poor; there were no signs about him of that prosperity that had once been his. Moreover, on reaching London he hurried me into an omnibus, and took me a long way rattling through an obscure part of the town to a street of mean houses abutting on the river; it was a place of houses evidently let out in rooms. He rang a bell at one house, and after a long time the sound of shuffling feet was heard, and the door opened a little way, and a face looked out. I was not sure at first whether it was the face of a child or of an old and wizened woman. Then, as the door was opened a little wider, I saw that it was a shabby and forlorn-looking girl of about fifteen or sixteen, dressed in an old skirt and blouse much too big for her. "All right, Moggs," said Fanshawe, "you needn't be afraid to let us in." He thrust her aside as he spoke, and motioned to me with a jerk of the head to follow him. I went in, and the girl closed the door. "There's a letter for you upstairs, guv'nor," she said, calling after Fanshawe, who was mounting the stairs. He muttered something, and went on his way; I followed obediently. We came into a forlorn-looking room, with an untidy bed in one corner, and with some wretched scraps of furniture scattered about it; a ragged apology for a carpet covered about half the floor. A cupboard, with a broken hinge to its door, swung open in one corner, and disclosed a few plates and cups and saucers, and some glasses that did not match. The place was destitute of fire, and was bitterly cold. Jervis Fanshawe strode out of the room again, and screamed querulously for the girl. "Moggs! Moggs!"