He pulled open the drawers of the dressing-table. They were filled with empty jars, sticky tubes, cigarette cartons, and bottles. Eye-black mingled with a spilt box of face powder. A tube of toothpaste oozed over a pair of sunglasses. A bottle of witchhazel—the bottle he had given her—had leaked, filling the drawer with a layer of white grease. He had never seen such a disgusting mess.
The second drawer was empty except for a soiled handkerchief. He closed the drawer with a grimace. Then he went to the fireplace and examined the scraps of paper, newspapers, a sheet of greasy brown paper that smelt strongly of decaying fish. He was very patient, and at last he found what he was looking for: a business card of an estate agent in Maida Vale.
He stood up, his eyes bright and excited. Maida Vale! Yes, they would fit in in Maida Vale. It had either to be Russell Square, or Soho, or Maida Vale. He slipped the card into his waistcoat pocket, pleased with himself.
Then he locked the door and went downstairs.
“I’ll think it over,” he said to the greengrocer. “I’d like my wife to see it.”
His wife! He thought of Cora, and there was a hitter taste in his mouth.
From the top of the bus he watched the crowded street. Then suddenly his heart gave a lurch. At the corner of Southampton Row and High Holborn he saw Nick, the Greek. He was standing on the kerb, a cigarette hanging from his thin lips, reading a newspaper. George shrank hack.
He remained uneasy and alarmed until the bus began to crawl tip Baker Street, and then his fears quieted. The Greek hadn’t seen him. It was a near thing, of course, but he hadn’t seen him. He got off the bus at Maida Vale and went immediately to the estate agent. It was a small office, and a fat little man, behind a shabby desk, was the only occupant. He seemed startled when George opened the door and entered, as if he seldom had callers. "Good afternoon,” he said, fingering a heavy silver watch chain. “Is there something?”
“I don’t know,” George said, and smiled. He was anxious for the little man to like him “I don’t want to waste your time, but I believe you can help me.” He took out the card and studied it. “It’s Mr Hibbert, isn’t it?”
The little man nodded. “You’re lucky to find me here,” he said. “Most places close on Saturday afternoon, but I thought I’d hang on a little longer…”