Probably they took them for reporters hunting for a story.
Reporters were the only tolerably well-dressed visitors Pleasant
Street ever entertained.

It was almost pitch dark on the stairs. They had to feel their way
up. Most of the doors were shut but one on the second floor was
ajar. Through the opening they had a glimpse of a number of women
sitting round on boxes. The floor was covered with little heaps of
linen. All the women were sewing. Mike, stumbling in the darkness,
almost fell against the door. None of the women looked up at the
noise. Time was evidently money in Pleasant Street.

On the fourth floor there was an open door. The room was empty. It
was a good representative Pleasant Street back room. The architect
in this case had given rein to a passion for originality. He had
constructed the room without a window of any sort whatsoever. There
was a square opening in the door. Through this, it was to be
presumed, the entire stock of air used by the occupants was
supposed to come.

They stumbled downstairs again and out into the street. By contrast
with the conditions indoors the street seemed spacious and breezy.

"This," said Psmith, as they walked on, "is where _Cosy Moments_ gets
busy at a singularly early date."

"What are you going to do?" asked Mike.

"I propose, Comrade Jackson," said Psmith, "if Comrade Windsor is
agreeable, to make things as warm for the owner of this place as