"I am," said Leroy. "What is it you want?"
"I wants to ask you a question," returned the other, bringing his face closer to Adrien, who recoiled involuntarily--the very smell of the fustian clothes offending his delicate nostrils.
The man noticed this, and frowned even more heavily.
"You're a gentleman," he said, "leastways I s'pose you calls yourself such--p'raps you'll act like one."
"Kindly make haste and tell me what you want, my good fellow," said Adrien impatiently. He did not know but that this was a preliminary to an attempt to rob him, and he was in no mood for a brawl.
"Oh, I'll be quick enough for you," was the sullen reply. "You don't remember me, you say; p'raps you'll remember my name--Wilfer--Johann Wilfer."
"Johann Wilfer," repeated Adrien, thoughtfully and slowly, wondering where he had heard the name before.
"Yes, Johann Wilfer, Picture Restorer, Cracknell Court, Soho."
"Oh!" said Adrien, as a burst of memory dawned on him. "I remember you now. What is it you want? But tell me first, has the girl Jessica returned yet?"
"That's just like you swells," growled the man. "Nothing like getting your word in first. Has she returned to me? You know jolly well she ain't. She won't come back to me till you've done with 'er, I'll be bound."