passenger began to stare about him with the air of a man who compares
present impressions with old memories. His eyes travelled down the
inclined plane of slate roofs, glistening in a bright interval
between two showers, to the masts which rocked slowly by the quays,
and from thence to the silver bar of sea beyond the harbour's mouth,
where the outline of Battery Point wavered unsteadily in the dazzle
of sky and water. He sniffed the fragrance of pilchards cooking and
the fumes of pitch blown from the ship-builders' yards; and scanned
with some curiosity the men and women who drew aside into doorways to
let the van pass.

He was a powerfully made man of about sixty-five, with a solemn,
hard-set face. The upper lip was clean-shaven and the chin decorated
with a square, grizzled beard--a mode of wearing the hair that gave
prominence to the ugly lines of the mouth. He wore a Sunday-best
suit and a silk hat. He carried a blue band-box on his knees, and
his enormous hands were spread over the cover. Boutigo, who held the
reins beside him, seemed, in comparison with this mighty passenger,
but a trivial accessory of his own vehicle.

"Where did you say William Dendle lives?" asked the big man, as the
van swung round a sharp corner and came to a halt under the signboard
of "The Lugger."

"Straight on for maybe quarter of a mile--turn down a court to the
right, facin' the toll-house. You'll see his sign, 'W. Dendle, Block
and Pump Manufacturer.' There's a flight o' steps leadin' 'ee slap
into his workshop."

The passenger set his band-box down on the cobbles between his ankles