When Martin reached the stairs where he had left his boat he found that it had disappeared. It was hopeless to look for it among the hundreds that were plying on the river, and Martin, feeling himself deprived of his occupation, made his way westwards, first with the idea of inquiring after Mr. Faryner, and then of getting a view of the progress of the Fire.
As he was jostling his way among the crowds who were moving up Cheapside, he was thrown against the old Frenchman, struggling along in the opposite direction. It flashed into his mind that Mounseer might have been paying another visit to Mr. Slocum, and his former feeling of puzzlement returned with redoubled force.
“Ah, my friend, what do you here?” asked the old man.
“My boat has been taken,” replied Martin, looking around rather anxiously; for the Frenchman’s words must have been heard by the persons near him, and his accent, coupled with the cut of his clothes and his general appearance, would certainly betray him as a foreigner.
“So you have nothing to do,” the Frenchman continued. “Same as me; your little sister go not to the school to-day, therefore am I unoccupied. I enjoy the holiday,” he added, with a smile. “We shall enjoy it together, eh?”
“Hadn’t you better go home, sir?” said Martin, remembering what Gollop had said overnight about the mob’s treatment of foreigners.
“Not at all, not at all. This great sight interest me very much. You shall take me to a place where the spectacle is most beautiful.”
Martin noticed one or two people scowling, and wished that Mounseer would hold his tongue. Determined to draw him away from the main stream of traffic he turned into an alley-way, intending to go by back streets as far as St. Paul’s, where, perhaps, the sacristan might allow them to ascend the tower.
Their course led them past the back entrance to Mr. Greatorex’s premises. Just before they reached it a man came out and walked towards Cheapside. Martin and the Frenchman recognised him at the same moment; he was the man whose scarred face they had seen at the window—the man who had knocked Martin down in Whitefriars.
“What next?” thought Martin. This was a new shock of surprise. Was this man also among Mr. Slocum’s acquaintances? The idea would never have occurred to Martin but for his thorough distrust of Mr. Slocum, and a strange suspicion was dawning on his mind when his attention was diverted by a sudden movement of the Frenchman, who hurried after the man, seized his arm, and began to speak excitedly in French.