Oleron waited for another five minutes on the step; then the man,
appearing again and masticating some of the food of which he had spoken,
announced that the key was lost.

"But you won't want it," he said. "The entrance door isn't closed, and a
push'll open any of the others. I'm a agent for it, if you're thinking of
taking it--"

Oleron recrossed the square, descended the two steps at the broken gate,
passed along the alley, and turned in at the old wide doorway. To the
right, immediately within the door, steps descended to the roomy cellars,
and the staircase before him had a carved rail, and was broad and
handsome and filthy. Oleron ascended it, avoiding contact with the rail
and wall, and stopped at the first landing. A door facing him had been
boarded up, but he pushed at that on his right hand, and an insecure bolt
or staple yielded. He entered the empty first floor.

He spent a quarter of an hour in the place, and then came out again.
Without mounting higher, he descended and recrossed the square to the
house of the man who had lost the key.

"Can you tell me how much the rent is?" he asked.

The man mentioned a figure, the comparative lowness of which seemed
accounted for by the character of the neighbourhood and the abominable
state of unrepair of the place.

"Would it be possible to rent a single floor?"