"Well," said Bindle philosophically, "there is some wot likes to see all the goods in the window. S'long!" and he turned off the Fulham Road, leaving the workman to pursue his journey puzzling over Bindle's enigmatical utterance.
"'Ullo, Charlie!" greeted Bindle, as he entered the porter's lodge of Fulham Square Mansions. "'Ere I am, come to take care of all the little birds in the nest wot you're a-leavin' behind."
Charlie Hart was a big man with a heavy moustache, a brow whereon the creases of worry had a perpetual abiding-place, and an indeterminate chin. "Charlie ought to wear a beard," was Bindle's verdict.
"Glad you come, Joe. I'll 'ave time to go over things again. Train don't go till four."
During the next few hours Bindle was once more taken over the salient features of the life of a porter at a block of residential flats. Charlie Hart had no system or order in conveying his instructions, and Bindle saw that he would have to depend upon his own wits to meet such crises as arose.
Mrs. Sedge, Mrs. Hart's mother, would look after those tenants who did not possess servants.
"She's all right when she ain't after 'Royal Richard,'" explained Charlie Hart.
"An' who's Royal Richard?" enquired Bindle with interest.
"Gin!" was Charlie Hart's laconic response.
Charlie enumerated the numbers of the flats, the occupants of which were to be "done for." One thing he particularly emphasised, Number Six was temporarily vacant. The owner was away; but it was let furnished from the following Monday to a Miss Cissie Boye, who was one of those to be "done for." Bindle was particularly cautioned to see that there were no "carryings on," whereat he winked reassuringly.