He had now crossed the park and emerged at the little, gate leading to Pimlico. They then inquired for the office of Sir Frederick, and were directed down a narrow street, called Buckingham-place, which was but dimly lighted by the inefficient oil lamps of the period.
Over an open doorway was a lamp, with the words “Magistrate’s Office,” boldly enamelled upon the dirty glass.
“This must be the place, father,” said Albert, hurriedly.
“No doubt,” replied Seyton. “Come in, Albert.”
They stooped under the low arched doorway, and were immediately confronted by a man of coarse heavy build, who demanded to know their business.
“We have a private communication to make to Sir Frederick,” said Mr. Seyton.
“Oh, private?” muttered the man.
“Yes, strictly private.”
“Is it anything about Bill Soames?”
“Bill who?”