my program. Come along and see what happens."

So first off we strolls past and has a look at the place. It's shut in
by a rusty iron fence with high spiked pickets. The house sets well back
from the sidewalk, and the front is nearly covered by some sort of vine.
At the side there are double gates openin' into a grass-grown driveway.

I was just noticin' that they was chained and locked when the Lieutenant
gives me a nudge and pulls me along by the coat sleeve. I gets a glimpse
of the square-built female waddlin' around the corner of the house. We
passes by innocent and hangs up in front of a plumbery shop, starin' in
at a fascinatin' display of one bathtub and a second-hand hot-water
boiler. Out of the corner of my eye, though, I could see her scout up
and down the street, unfasten the gate, and then disappear.

"Huh!" says I. "Kitchen company expected."

"Or more conspirators," adds Cecil. "By Jove! Isn't this one now?"

There's no denyin' he looked the part, this short-legged, long-armed,
heavy-podded gent with the greasy old derby tilted rakish over one ear.
Such a hard face he has, a reg'lar low-brow map, and a neck like a
choppin'-block. His stubby legs are sprung out at the knees, and his
arms have a good deal the same curve.

"Built like a dachshund, ain't he?" I remarks.

"Quite so," says Fothergill. "See, he's stopping. And he has a bundle
under one arm."