Varney's eye took in everything. It occurred to him that this was a most extraordinary place for the family of the exquisite and well-fixed Elbert Carstairs to live. Hard on the heels of that came another thought and he stopped.
"What's the matter?" said Peter.
"We simply mustn't get mixed up in any doings here, you know. Can't afford it. Whatever is going on, our rôle must be that of quiet onlookers only. Remember that."
"Quiet onlookers it is. Hello! Did you see that?"
"What?"
"Old duck in a felt hat walking behind us, a good distance off—I'd heard him for some time. He stopped when we stopped, and when I turned then I was just in time to see him go skipping up the side street."
"Well, what of it?"
"Not a thing. I'm interested in the sights of the town, that's all.
Listen to those hoodlums, will you?"
In the middle of that block rose a great public building of florid and hideous architecture, absurdly expensive for so small a town, and running fast to seed. On the corner ahead, at the crest of the slope, stood the handsomest and most prosperous-looking building they had yet seen. Its long side was cut by many windows, all brilliantly lit up, and above the lower tier ran the gold-lettered legend:
WINES & LIQUORS. THE OTTOMAN. D. RYAN.