Again it was a man who dealt the deeper blow--a gentlemanly-looking
person of whom in Wilton Road one evening she asked the way to an
address copied from the _Daily Telegraph_. Why, by an extraordinary
coincidence he was going that way himself, to that very house!--flat,
rather. Yes, it was his mother who was advertising for a lady-help.
Might he show her the way? ... It would be very kind of him.

Through a maze of streets, he chatting pleasantly enough, though
putting now and then curious little questions which she could not
understand.... Hadn't he seen her at the Oxford one night? ...
Assuredly he had not; what was the Oxford?

He laughed, evidently pleased. "Gad, you do keep it up!" he cried.

So to a great pile of flats; up a circular stair.

"You understand why I can't use the lift?" he said. "They're beastly
particular here."

She did not understand; supposed it was some question of expense. Thus
to a door where he took out a latch-key.

It was then for the first moment that a sudden doubt, a horror, took
her, trembling her limbs.

She looked up at the figures painted over the door.

"Why, it is the wrong number!" she cried.