whiskers, to be seen occasionally there behind the counter. All
customers it would refer, with the air of a Lord High Chamberlain
introducing debutantes, to Mrs. Postwhistle, evidently regarding
itself purely as ornamental. For the last ten years, however, no
one had noticed it there, and Mrs. Postwhistle had a facility
amounting almost to genius for ignoring or misunderstanding
questions it was not to her taste to answer. Most things were
suspected, nothing known. St. Dunstan-in-the-West had turned to
other problems.

"If I wasn't wanting to see 'im," remarked to herself Mrs.
Postwhistle, who was knitting with one eye upon the shop, "'e'd a
been 'ere 'fore I'd 'ad time to clear the dinner things away;
certain to 'ave been. It's a strange world."

Mrs. Postwhistle was desirous for the arrival of a gentleman not
usually awaited with impatience by the ladies of Rolls Court--to
wit, one William Clodd, rent-collector, whose day for St. Dunstan-
in-the-West was Tuesday.

"At last," said Mrs. Postwhistle, though without hope that Mr.
Clodd, who had just appeared at the other end of the court, could
possibly hear her. "Was beginning to be afraid as you'd tumbled
over yerself in your 'urry and 'urt yerself."

Mr. Clodd, perceiving Mrs. Postwhistle, decided to abandon method
and take No. 7 first.

Mr. Clodd was a short, thick-set, bullet-headed young man, with
ways that were bustling, and eyes that, though kind, suggested