"I tell yer wot," suggested the hobbledehoy. "Give me tuppence, and I'll go through the lot."
With a wry face, Mr. Fox-Cordery produced the coppers, which the hobbledehoy spun in the air, and pocketed. Then he conscientiously went through the list of the inmates of the house from basement to attic, Mr. Fox-Cordery shaking his head at each introduction.
"There's the gent with the 'air on," he said, in conclusion; "and that finishes it."
Mr. Fox-Cordery's face lighted up.
"Long gray hair?" he asked.
"Yes," replied the hobbledehoy. "Could make a pair of wigs out of it."
"Down to here?" asked Mr. Fox-Cordery, with his hand at his breast.
"That's the wery identical. Looks like the Wizard of the North. Long legs and arms, face like a lion."
"That is the person I want," said Mr. Fox-Cordery.
"Third floor back," said the hobbledehoy; and, with the virtuous feeling of a boy who has earned his pennies, he walked into the house, with his head up; whereby Mr. Fox-Cordery learned that knockers and bells were superfluities, and that anyone was free of the street door, and could obtain entrance by a simple push. Following the instruction, he mounted the stairs slowly, lighting matches as he ascended to save himself from falling into a chance trap; a necessary precaution, for the passages were pitch dark, and the balustrades and staircases generally in a tumbledown, rickety condition. The third floor was the top of the house, and comprised one front and one back room. He knocked at the latter without eliciting a response, and knocked again with the same result. Then he turned the handle, which yielded to his pressure, and entered.