as any girl could be of her beauty.

"I'll tell you one other thing," he said. "Patent leathers {10}
and Square-toes came in the same cab, and they walked down
the pathway together as friendly as possible -- arm-in-arm,
in all probability. When they got inside they walked up and
down the room -- or rather, Patent-leathers stood still while
Square-toes walked up and down. I could read all that in the
dust; and I could read that as he walked he grew more and
more excited. That is shown by the increased length of his
strides. He was talking all the while, and working himself
up, no doubt, into a fury. Then the tragedy occurred.
I've told you all I know myself now, for the rest is mere
surmise and conjecture. We have a good working basis, however,
on which to start. We must hurry up, for I want to go to
Halle's concert to hear Norman Neruda this afternoon."

This conversation had occurred while our cab had been
threading its way through a long succession of dingy streets
and dreary by-ways. In the dingiest and dreariest of them
our driver suddenly came to a stand. "That's Audley Court
in there," he said, pointing to a narrow slit in the line of
dead-coloured brick. "You'll find me here when you come back."

Audley Court was not an attractive locality. The narrow
passage led us into a quadrangle paved with flags and lined
by sordid dwellings. We picked our way among groups of dirty
children, and through lines of discoloured linen, until we
came to Number 46, the door of which was decorated with a
small slip of brass on which the name Rance was engraved.