Don’t you know? What a question to ask respecting S.S.!
At the corner of Shy Street he alighted, and sauntered gently down the street, keeping a sharp look-out on both sides of him, without appearing to regard anything but the pavement.
Humph! The odd numbers were on the left side, so S.S. would walk on the right, and get a good survey of Number 13 from a modest distance.
What, thought he, would the precious Cruden Reginald (ha! ha!) think if he knew who was walking down the other side of the road?
Ah! he was getting near it now. Here was 17, a baker’s; 15, a greengrocer’s; and 13—eh? a chemist’s? Ah, yes, he noticed that the first floors of all the shops were let for offices, and the first floor of the chemist’s shop was the place he wanted.
He could see through the grimy window the top rail of a chair-back and the corner of a table, on which stood an inkpot and a tattered directory. No occupant of the room was visible; doubtless he found it prudent to keep away from the window; or he might possibly have seen the figure of S.S. advancing down the street.
Samuel crossed over. No name was on the chemist’s side-door, but it stood ajar, and he pushed it open and peered up the gloomy staircase. There was a name on the door at the top, so he crept stealthily up the stairs to decipher the word “Medlock” in dim characters on the plate.
“Medlock!” Ho! ho! He was getting warm now. Not only was his man going about with his own name turned inside out, but he had the effrontery to stick up the name of one of his own directors on his door!
Samuel knew Mr Medlock—whom didn’t he know? He had been introduced to him by Durfy, and had supped with him once at the Shades. A nice, pleasant-spoken gentleman, who had made some very complimentary little speeches about Samuel in Samuel’s own hearing. This was the man whose name Cruden had borrowed for his door-plate, in the hope of further mystifying the public as to his own personality!
Ah! ah! He might mystify the public, but there was one whose initials were S.S. whom it would need a cleverer cheat than Cruden Reginald, Esquire, to mystify!