throat showing above the garibaldi. Below the jacket fell a long,
black skirt, the train of which had been looped up about the waist
and fastened with a cricket-belt.

"Who are you? What do you want?" asked Mr. Peter Hope.

For answer, the figure, passing the greasy cap into its other hand,
stooped down and, seizing the front of the long skirt, began to
haul it up.

"Don't do that!" said Mr. Peter Hope. "I say, you know, you--"

But by this time the skirt had practically disappeared, leaving to
view a pair of much-patched trousers, diving into the right-hand
pocket of which the dirty hand drew forth a folded paper, which,
having opened and smoothed out, it laid upon the desk.

Mr. Peter Hope pushed up his spectacles till they rested on his
eyebrows, and read aloud--"'Steak and Kidney Pie, 4d.; Do. (large
size), 6d.; Boiled Mutton--'"

"That's where I've been for the last two weeks," said the figure,--
"Hammond's Eating House!"

The listener noted with surprise that the voice--though it told him
as plainly as if he had risen and drawn aside the red rep curtains,
that outside in Gough Square the yellow fog lay like the ghost of a
dead sea--betrayed no Cockney accent, found no difficulty with its
aitches.