"This is an odd turning for a man of that kind to take," I said.

"A man of what kind?" asked my friend.

"Well," I said, "a man with that kind of expression and those
boots. I thought it rather odd, to tell the truth, that he should
be in this part of the world at all."

"Ah, yes," said Basil, and said no more.

We tramped on, looking steadily in front of us. The elegant
figure, like the figure of a black swan, was silhouetted suddenly
against the glare of intermittent gaslight and then swallowed
again in night. The intervals between the lights were long, and a
fog was thickening the whole city. Our pace, therefore, had become
swift and mechanical between the lamp-posts; but Basil came to a
standstill suddenly like a reined horse; I stopped also. We had
almost run into the man. A great part of the solid darkness in
front of us was the darkness of his body.

At first I thought he had turned to face us. But though we were
hardly a yard off he did not realize that we were there. He tapped
four times on a very low and dirty door in the dark, crabbed
street. A gleam of gas cut the darkness as it opened slowly. We
listened intently, but the interview was short and simple and
inexplicable as an interview could be. Our exquisite friend handed
in what looked like a paper or a card and said:

"At once. Take a cab."