Then he took up a coat and looked at the maker's name on the tab.
"Holland and Woolson"—Simon's tailors!
Then he examined all the garments. Such garments! Boating flannels, serge suits! Then the shoes, the patent leather boots. He opened the chest of drawers and found the bundle of discarded clothes—the old coat with the left elbow "going," and the rest. He held them up, examined them, folded them and put them back.
Then he sat down to recover himself, blew his nose, wondered whether he or Simon were crazy, and then, rising up, began to fold and put away the new things in the wardrobe and chest-of-drawers.
He noticed that one of the portmanteaux was locked. Yet there was something in it that slid up and down as he tilted and lowered it.
Having looked round the room once again, he went downstairs, gave up the key, made arrangements for his room, and started out.
He made for Sackville Street. Meyer, the foreman of Holland and Woolson's, was known to him. He had sometimes called regarding Simon's clothes with directions for this or that.
"That blue serge suit you've just sent for Mr. Pettigrew don't quite rightly fit, Mr. Meyer," said the cunning Mudd. "I had the coat done up in a parcel to bring back to you for the sleeves to be shortened half an inch, but I forgot it; only remembered I'd forgot it at your door."
"We'll send for it," said Meyer.
"Right," said Mudd. Then, "No—on second thoughts, I'll fetch it myself when I have a moment to spare, for we're going from home for a few days. Mr. Pettigrew has had a good lot of clothes lately, Mr. Meyer."