"I am bound to go, Ashley," I answered, "but I am not likely to come to much grief. I have a revolver in my pocket, and I have not studied boxing with Baxter for nothing. I don't fancy there's anything in Bermondsey going to hurt me."
"I hope not, sir," Ashley answered civilly. "At half-past eleven, if I do not hear from you, I shall go myself to Scotland Yard."
I nodded.
"And in the meantime," I said, "a taxicab, if you please."
I drove to the address given me on the paper. It was an odd, half-forgotten street, terminating in a cul-de-sac, and not far from the river. The few houses it contained were larger than the majority of those in the neighborhood, but were in a shocking state of repair. The one at which I eventually stopped had a timber yard adjoining, or rather attached to it. I left the taxicab outside, and made my somewhat uncertain way up to the front door. Only a few yards from me a great black dog was straining at his collar and barking furiously. I was somewhat relieved when the door was opened immediately at my knock.
"Is Mr. Hoffmeyer staying here?" I asked.
A little old man carrying a tallow candle stuck into a cheap candlestick nodded assent, and closed the door after me. I noticed, without any particular pleasure, that he also drew the bolts.
"What do you do that for?" I asked sharply. "I shall only be here a few minutes. It is not worth while locking up."
The man looked at me but said nothing. He seemed to show neither any desire nor any ability for speech. Only as I repeated my question he nodded slowly as one who barely understands.
"Mr. Hoffmeyer is in his room," he said. "He will be glad to see you."