Charing Cross!” repeated the publican. “It’s a good ways from ’ere.”
“How far?” asked Tony.
A mile easy, and there’s no end of turns.”
“Just start me, then,” said Tony, “and I’ll reach there. Which way is it?”
“Turn to the left when you go out of this shop.”
“All right, and thank you.”
Tony noticed that there were three or four men seated at tables in the back part of the shop, but he had not
the curiosity to look at them. If he had, he would have been startled, for among these men was Rudolph Rugg, more disreputable than ever in appearance, for he had been drinking deeply for the last six months. He stared at Tony as one dazed, for he supposed him dead long ago at the bottom of a well, three thousand miles away.
What’s the matter, Rugg?” asked his companion. “You look as if you’d seen a ghost.”
“So I have,” muttered Rugg, starting for the door.