“THE BOY STARED HARD AT HEWITT.”
“Oh!” Hewitt answered sharply. “Retired, has he? And what’s become of the stock, eh! Where are the cabbages and potatoes?”
“’E told me to give ’em to the pore, an’ I did. There’s lots o’ pore lives round ’ere. My mother’s one; an’ these ’ere coals is for ’er, an’ I’m goin’ to ’ave the trolley for myself.”
“Dear me!” Hewitt answered, regarding the boy with amused interest. “You’re a very business-like almoner. And what will the Tabernacle do without Mr. Penner?”
“I dunno,” the boy answered, closing the door behind him. “I dunno nothin’ about the Tabernacle—only where it is.”
“Ah, and where is it? I might find him there, perhaps.”
“Ward Lane—fust on left, second on right. It’s a shop wot’s bin shut up; next door to a stableyard.” And the smudgy boy started off with his trolley.
The Tabernacle was soon found. At some very remote period it had been an unlucky small shop, but now it was permanently shuttered, and the interior was lighted by holes cut in the upper panels of the shutters. Hewitt took a good look at the shuttered window and the door beside it, and then entered the stable-yard at the side. To the left of the passage giving entrance to the yard there was a door, which plainly was another entrance to the house, and a still damp mud-mark on the step proved it to have been lately used. Hewitt rapped sharply at the door with his knuckles.
Presently a female voice from within could be heard speaking through the key-hole in a very loud whisper. “Who is it?” asked the voice.