"That is not the way," returned the driver.
"It's my way. We might fall in with a crowd."
"But—"
"To the left," said the man. "I will direct you."
The coach turned into the street indicated, and afterward round this corner and that at the bidding of the man on the box until the driver was utterly confused.
"I'm lost, citizen," he said; "and what's more I believe you are, too."
"You'll see directly. Sharp round to the right here."
The driver turned.
"Why, it's as I said, you've lost yourself. This is a blind alley."
Indeed it was, a narrow lane between high walls, a place where refuse collected and was allowed to remain undisturbed, a place upon which looked no prying window and which echoed to no footfall.