"Thank you. Will you give me her address, Mr. Bodenham?"
Mr. Bodenham wrote something on a slip of paper.
"There it is. It is a street behind Chelsea Hospital--about as unsavoury a neighbourhood as you will easily find."
Mr. Gibbs found that the artist's words were justified by facts--it was an unsavoury neighbourhood into which the cabman found his way. No. 20 was the number which Mr. Bodenham had given him. The door of No. 20 stood wide open. Mr. Gibbs knocked with his stick. A dirty woman appeared from a room on the left.
"Does Miss Brock live here?"
"Never heard tell of no such name. Unless it's the young woman what lives at the top of the 'ouse--third floor back. Perhaps it's her you want. Is it a model that you're after? Because, that's what she is--leastways I've heard 'em saying so. Top o' the stairs, first door to your left."
Mr. Gibbs started to ascend.
"Take care of them stairs," cried the woman after him. "They wants knowing."
Mr. Gibbs found that what the woman said was true--they did want knowing. Better light, too would have been an assistant to a better knowledge. He had to strike a match to enable him to ascertain if he had reached the top. A squalid top it was--it smelt! By the light of the flickering match he perceived that there was a door upon his left. He knocked. A voice cried to him, for the second time that day:
"Come in!"