“No,” said George, “I don’t.... I don’t know.”
“Well,” said Edward, as though conveying a profound secret, “if ever you happen to be at Lowestoft, that’s the way you get in to London.”
“Oh, is it?” said George blankly.
“Where did he buy your clothes?” asked Edward suddenly, “what shop?”
“Oh, in Parham somewhere,” said George, “I don’t know where. I put ’em on before I started of course. I couldn’t stay in a dressing-gown.”
A thought occurred to Edward. He pulled back the collar of Demaine’s coat, and saw marked upon a tape, “Harrington Brothers, Parham.” Without so much as asking his leave he cut the label.
“What’s on the shirt?” he asked laconically.
George opened his waistcoat and looked. “Six sixty-six,” he said.
“It is the mark of the beast,” said Edward.
“Who do you mean?” said George, bewildered. “William Bailey lent it to me.”