"Get there as quickly as possible," said Viner. "The quicker the better."
It was not until he had gone a good half of his journey that Viner began to wonder whatever it was that had taken Miss Wickham and her chaperon down to the far boundaries of the City—or, indeed, farther. Mrs. Killenhall had said the City, but Viner knew his London well enough to know that Whitechapel Road lies without the City confines. She had said, too, that a man who knew Mr. Ashton was there with her and Miss Wickham—what man, wondered Viner, and what doing in a district like that toward which he was speeding?
The chauffeur did the run to Whitechapel Road in unusually good time; it was little more than two o'clock when the car passed the parish church. But the man had gone from one end of the road to the other, from the end of High Street to the beginning of Mile End Road, without success, when he stopped and looked in at his passenger.
"Can't see no street of that name on either side, Mr. Viner," he said.
"Have you got it right, sir?"
"That's the name given me," answered Viner. He pointed to a policeman slowly patrolling the side walk. "Ask him," he said. "He'll know."
The policeman, duly questioned, seemed surprised at first; then recollection evidently awoke in him.
"Mirrypoor Street?" he said. "Oh, yes! Second to your left, third to the right—nice sort o' street for a car like yours to go into, too!"
Viner overheard this and put his head out of the window.
"Why?" he demanded.
The policeman, quick to recognize a superior person, touched his helmet and stepped off the curb toward his questioner.