"Bullock Street," said the detective, and shot up that
thoroughfare as quickly as the strange couple he pursued.

Their journey now took them through bare brick ways like
tunnels; streets with few lights and even with few windows;
streets that seemed built out of the blank backs of everything and
everywhere. Dusk was deepening, and it was not easy even for the
London policemen to guess in what exact direction they were
treading. The inspector, however, was pretty certain that they
would eventually strike some part of Hampstead Heath. Abruptly
one bulging gas-lit window broke the blue twilight like a
bull's-eye lantern; and Valentin stopped an instant before a little
garish sweetstuff shop. After an instant's hesitation he went in;
he stood amid the gaudy colours of the confectionery with entire
gravity and bought thirteen chocolate cigars with a certain care.
He was clearly preparing an opening; but he did not need one.

An angular, elderly young woman in the shop had regarded his
elegant appearance with a merely automatic inquiry; but when she
saw the door behind him blocked with the blue uniform of the
inspector, her eyes seemed to wake up.

"Oh," she said, "if you've come about that parcel, I've sent
it off already."

"Parcel?" repeated Valentin; and it was his turn to look
inquiring.

"I mean the parcel the gentleman left--the clergyman
gentleman."