"I obtained a clew," said Sharpley, evasively. "It may or may not lead to anything. I am about to leave London now on a journey connected with that clew. If it results in anything, I will let you know."
"Where are you going?"
"On the Continent. I cannot say precisely where, but you will hear from me. But what a hole you are living in," and he looked around him in disgust at the bare walls and naked condition of the miserable room.
"I don't mind it, Robert. I feel glad to have the shelter of any roof."
"Have you been so poor?"
"So poor that I could not well be poorer."
"Come, this must be remedied. I am not rich, but I can do something for you. To-morrow morning I will move you to a better room. Do you think you can bear to be moved?"
"Yes, brother. You are very kind," murmured the sick woman, not aware that her brother's motives were complex, and that his chief reason for the removal was not dictated by sympathy or pity.
"Then I shall be here to-morrow at ten, with a cab. You must all of you be ready. By the way, do you know any of the people in the house?"
"Yes; they are poor, but some of them have been kind to me."