Having taken the required turns our wanderer found himself in a peculiarly low, dirty, and disagreeable locality. The population was in keeping with it—so much so that Aspel looked round inquiringly before proceeding to “ask again.” He had not quite made up his mind which of the tawdry, half-drunken creatures around him he would address, when a middle-aged man of respectable appearance, dressed in black, issued from one of the surrounding dens.
“A city missionary,” thought George Aspel, as he approached, and asked for direction to the abode of a man named Abel Bones.
The missionary pointed out the entrance to the desired abode, and looked at his questioner with a glance which arrested the youth’s attention.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, “but the man you name has a very bad character.”
“Well, what then?” demanded Aspel sharply.
“Oh! nothing. I only meant to warn you, for he is a dangerous man.”
The missionary was a thin but muscular man, with stern black eyes and a powerful nose, which might have rendered his face harsh if it had not been more than redeemed by a large firm mouth, round which played lines that told unmistakably of the milk of human kindness. He smiled as he spoke, and Aspel was disarmed.
“Thank you,” he said; “I am well able to take care of myself.”
Evidently the missionary thought so too, for, with a quiet bow, he turned and went his way.
At the end of a remarkably dark passage George Aspel ran his head against a beam and his knee against a door with considerable violence.