But the intense desire to test the value of the promised information bore down everything else; and, forgetting the aspect of the coarse-looking women and ruffianly men loafing about at public-house doors and the corners of the streets, he knocked sharply.
“I will not go in,” he said to himself. “Ronny—Fenella—my life may be of value to them, if it is little to me.”
A hard faced, showily dressed woman of about forty came to the door, looked him sharply up and down, and before he could speak exclaimed:
“Oh, you’re the gent, are you?”
“What do you mean? Yes, I am the gentleman who was to come here by appointment.”
“Then you’re too late,” said the woman sourly. “She’s gone.”
“She—has—gone?” faltered Onslow. “The appointment was at four o’clock. It is not ten minutes past.”
“I can’t help that. She came back in a hurry in a cab, fetched her bag, and she’s gone.”
“But the—the lady—is coming back?”
“Not likely. If you came you was to be shown into the room she took. Want to wait?”