Serjeant Mowham laughed. "I can't say, one way or the other. You might try, perhaps. Don't say, though, that I recommended it."
The peer smoothed his brow, smooth enough before to all appearance. How often do these smiling brows hide a heavy load of perplexity within!
"As for me, I must be off," added the serjeant. "I've a consultation on for five o'clock at my chambers, and I believe five has struck."
He bustled away, leaving Lord Acorn in the crowd. Thought is quick. That nobleman was saying to himself, "What if I do see Sir Turtle?—who knows but I might come over him by persuasion? Wonder where he is to be found?"
He glanced up and down Leadenhall Street, at its houses on this side and on that, as if, haply, he might discern the name. During this survey he found himself subjected to an increased amount of jostling, and became aware that the clerks were pouring out of the offices of Grubb and Howard.
"Oh—ah," began Lord Acorn, addressing a young man who was nearly the last, all his nonchalance of manner in full force again, "can you tell me where Sir Turtle Kite is to be found?"
"Sir Turtle Kite, sir?" replied the young clerk, civilly. "I think—I'm not quite sure—but I think his place is somewhere down by the river. Here—Aitcheson"—stopping an older clerk—"where is Sir Turtle Kite's place? This gentleman is asking."
"Tooley Street—forget the number—can't mistake it," replied the other, who seemed in a great hurry to get away, and threw back the words as he went.
"Tooley Street," repeated Lord Acorn, by way of impressing the name on his mind. "Some commercial stronghold, I apprehend. What business is he?"
"He's a tallow-merchant, sir."