“Hem!” said Tanner: “I see you’re on the free-list. And pray how am I to know you are Gerard’s daughter?”
“You do not doubt I am his daughter!” said Sybil proudly.
“Hem!” said Tanner: “I do not know that I do very much,” and he whispered to his wife. Sybil removed from them as far as she was able.
“And this news is very urgent,” resumed Tanner; “and concerns me you say?”
“Concerns you all,” said Sybil; “and every minute is of the last importance.”
“I should like to have gone with you myself, and then there could have been no mistake,” said Tanner; “but that can’t be; we have a meeting here at half-past eight in our great room. I don’t much like breaking rules, especially in such a business; and yet, concerning all of us, as you say, and so very urgent, I don’t see how it could do harm; and I might—I wish I was quite sure you were the party.
“How can I satisfy you?” said Sybil, distressed.
“Perhaps the young person have got her mark on her linen,” suggested the wife. “Have you got a handkerchief Ma’am?” and she took Sybil’s handkerchief and looked at it, and examined it at every corner. It had no mark. And this unforeseen circumstance of great suspicion might have destroyed everything, had not the production of the handkerchief by Sybil also brought forth a letter addressed to her from Hatton.
“It seems to be the party,” said the wife.
“Well,” said Tanner, “you know St Martin’s Lane I suppose? Well, you go up St Martin’s Lane to a certain point, and then you will get into Seven Dials; and then you’ll go on. However it is impossible to direct you; you must find your way. Hunt Street, going out of Silver Street, No. 22. ‘Tis what you call a blind street, with no thoroughfare, and then you go down an alley. Can you recollect that?”