"You can always," said Mr. Hoopdriver, "turn round if you don't
like it, and go back the way you came."

"Oh-o!" said the other man in brown. "THAT'S it! I thought as
much."

"Did you?" said Mr. Hoopdriver, quite at sea, but rising pluckily
to the unknown occasion. What was the man driving at?

"I see," said the other man. "I see. I half suspected--" His
manner changed abruptly to a quality suspiciously friendly. "Yes-
-a word with you. You will, I hope, give me ten minutes."

Wonderful things were dawning on Mr. Hoopdriver. What did the
other man take him for? Here at last was reality! He hesitated.
Then he thought of an admirable phrase. "You 'ave some
communication--"

"We'll call it a communication," said the other man.

"I can spare you the ten minutes," said Mr. Hoopdriver, with
dignity.

"This way, then," said the other man in brown, and they walked
slowly down the North Street towards the Grammar School. There
was, perhaps, thirty seconds' silence. The other man stroked his
moustache nervously. Mr. Hoopdriver's dramatic instincts were now
fully awake. He did not quite understand in what role he was
cast, but it was evidently something dark and mysterious. Doctor
Conan Doyle, Victor Hugo, and Alexander Dumas were well within