Our journey came to a sudden end, and, if I was surprised at the locality into which it had brought me, I was still more so at its termination. The carriage had stopped outside a gloomy-looking warehouse, the back of which, ornamented with several cranes, overlooked the river. The whole of the front appeared to be in darkness, but from a gas-lamp on the other side of the narrow way I could read the brass sign-plate by the side of the door:
HIGGENSON AND CO.
Merchants and Exporters.
The door of the carriage was thrown open and I was evidently expected to descend. I did so after a moment’s hesitation.
“Are you sure that you have brought me to the right place?” I asked the man who held the door open. “This seems to be a warehouse. I think there must be some mistake.”
The man silently closed the carriage door and stepped up to his seat beside the driver.
“There is no mistake,” he said curtly. “You will find the Count de Cartienne—there.”
He pointed to the warehouse door and I saw that it was now open and that a man was standing upon the threshold. I turned towards him doubtfully.
“Will you come this way, Mr. Morton?” he said. “Count de Cartienne is sorry to have to bring you here, but we are busy—very busy, and he had no time to get back to the hotel. The carriage will wait to take you back.”
The man’s manner and tone were certainly not those of a servant, but from the position in which he stood I could see nothing save the bare outline of his figure. I crossed the pavement towards him.
We left the room and he conducted me down a passage and into a small chamber. Here my companion paused and lit a lamp which stood on a table in the middle of the room.