"Well, what have you got there?" Ben asked.
"I'm afraid I haven't anything," he said. "Or South Audley Street?"
"Yes," said Ben, "that's much better."
He looked through his register again.
"No," he said, "there's nothing there. But"—brightly—"what about the upper part of a garage near the Imperial Institute? I can recommend that most highly."
It was then that we came out.
Taking our fate into our own hands, we spent the afternoon in walking in likely places, and at last came upon an old book shop in Motcombe Street, which is near Knightsbridge and between the distinguished and far from poverty-stricken squares of Eaton and of Lowndes. At the side of the shop was a signboard in white and light green on which were the agreeable words:—
THE
BOOKLOVERS'
REST
In the window were rows on rows of volumes, old and less old, some opened at the title page and others at delectable coloured plates.
The shop was evidently new, judging by the paint; and from a window above it a notice emerged stating that the upper part was to let and was suitable for offices.