My meditations were interrupted by the voice of The Freak.
"What shall we do next?" he enquired, with great gusto.
"Go home," said I, without hesitation.
"How?"
"Straight on: this passage must lead somewhere."
"Does it? Have you ever been down it before?"
"I can't remember; but--"
"Well, I have, and it does n't lead anywhere, young feller-my-lad. That's why that blamed bull-dog of Sandy's has n't followed us up harder. He knows he has got us on toast. I expect they 're all waiting for us at the mouth of this rat-hole now."
Certainly we were in a tight corner. But even now The Freak's amazing resource did not fail him. We were standing at the moment outside a building of rather forbidding aspect, which had the appearance of a parish institute. The windows of one of the rooms on the ground-floor were brightly lighted, and even as we looked a large podgy young man, of the Sunday-School superintendent type, appeared on the front steps. We feigned absorption in a large printed notice which stood outside the door.
The podgy man addressed us.