“No, sir, but I do remember something about his saying he wanted to go to Whitechapel—I think it was—or Whitehall, I forget which, but I’m sure it was white something.”
With this very slender clue Charlie Brooke presented himself in due time at Scotland Yard, at which fountain-head of London policedom he gave a graphic account of the missing man and the circumstances attending his disappearance. Thence he went to the headquarters of the London City Mission; introduced himself to a sympathetic secretary there, and was soon put in communication with one of the most intelligent of those valuable self-sacrificing and devoted men who may be styled the salt of the London slums. This good man’s district embraced part of Whitechapel.
“I will help you to the extent of my power, Mr Brooke,” he said, “but your quest will be a difficult one, perhaps dangerous. How do you propose to go about it?”
“By visiting all the low lodging-houses in Whitechapel first,” said Charlie.
“That will take a long time,” said the City Missionary, smiling. “Low lodging-houses are somewhat numerous in these parts.”
“I am aware of that, Mr Stansfield, and mean to take time,” returned our hero promptly. “And what I want of you is to take me into one or two of them, so that I may see something of them while under your guidance. After that I will get their streets and numbers from you, or through you, and will then visit them by myself.”
“But, excuse me, my friend,” returned the missionary, “your appearance in such places will attract more attention than you might wish, and would interfere with your investigations, besides exposing you to danger, for the very worst characters in London are sometimes to be found in such places. Only men of the police force and we city missionaries can go among them with impunity.”
“I have counted the cost, Mr Stansfield, and intend to run the risk; but thank you, all the same, for your well-meant warning. Can you go round one or two this afternoon?”
“I can, with pleasure, and will provide you with as many lodging-house addresses as I can procure. Do you live far from this?”
“No, quite close. A gentleman, who was in your Secretary’s office when I called, recommended a small lodging-house kept by a Mrs Butt in the neighbourhood of Flower and Dean Street. You know that region well, I suppose?”