"It's not very far now," Charliewood said.
He shook as he said so, and his voice had a very muffled sound.
"Don't you talk, old fellow," Rathbone answered. "I can see you're cold, and this fog plays the deuce with the lungs. Do keep quiet; there's no need to say anything. I'll follow where you lead."
They stood at last before the little door in the high wall of Sir William Gouldesbrough's house.
In the distance the faint rumble of London came to their ears, but there was not a soul about. Nobody saw them as Charliewood opened the door with a pass-key, explaining to Rathbone that Sir William had given him the key in order to save the servants coming through the garden.
"I'm always in and out of the house," he explained, still with the cold and fog in his voice.
They opened the door, and it clicked behind them.
Rathbone brushed against some laurel bushes.
"I say," he said, "how dark it is here! You must conduct me, Charliewood, up this path. Let me take your arm."
He took his friend's arm, noticing with wonder how the cold seemed to have penetrated the bones of his host; for the big man's whole body was trembling.