"That's fine," said Ridgwell. "Will you really come to fetch us?"
"Yes, in three days' time."
"Where do you live?" asked Ridgwell, unexpectedly.
The Writer pretended to be most mysterious all at once.
"Where do you suppose I live?" he asked Ridgwell; "I do not think you will ever guess."
"Whitechapel?" hazarded Ridgwell.
The Writer pretended to look almost hurt.
"Peckham?" suggested Christine.
"Very bad guesses," laughed the Writer. "You are both wrong. I have a set of chambers facing Trafalgar Square, where every morning of my life I can look out of the front windows and see my dear old friend Lal."
Both the children gave a shout at this astounding piece of information.