On his left, three doors up, was a tea-shop. Gray looked in, and passed on. A couple of warehouses and a restaurant came next, and a narrow alley beyond. Gray turned into this alley, and followed its tortuous length for some distance until it emptied itself and Gray into a sort of paved square, where the noise of traffic was reduced to a steady hum. There was one noticeable house in the square, a dull-looking building with a projecting lamp. People passed in and out. It was a public-house.
Instead of hurrying by with averted gaze, Gray stopped and glanced sideways at the bill of fare in a brass frame. He really hadn't the least curiosity to know what joints were on, and what entrées off, he was just asking himself a question which he couldn't answer. Another man had stopped to read the bill on the other door-post, and as he did so, Gray looked up. It was George Early.
For reasons best known to himself, Gray was angry.
"What the devil do you want?" he asked, addressing George.
"Want?" said George, surprised; "I'm looking at the bill."
"What do you want?" shouted Gray, fiercely, moving a step nearer.
"I want to be measured for a suit of clothes," said George, innocently. "This is a tailor's, isn't it?"
"This is a public-house," said Gray, in a low, murderous tone, "and you—you're following me."
A whisky bill stared George full in the face, and his pleasant expression gave way to a look of concern.
"A public-house?" he said, stepping back. "Why, so it is. What's this, Gray? You don't mean to tell me you——"