"Oh, he'd like it right enough," I assured her. "I don't want to go into his room; I'll scribble it in the hall if you'll let me have a sheet of paper and an envelope."
Something in my sporting offer seemed to reassure the old girl, for she cautiously pulled back the door just wide enough for me to come in.
"I shan't be long," I called out to the cabman, and then, crossing the threshold, entered the house.
The landlady opened the door on the left-hand side of the passage.
"I s'pose it's all right," she said grudgingly. "This 'ere's Mr. Logan's room."
I followed her into Billy's sanctum, which proved to be the ordinary cheaply-furnished front parlour of a London lodging-house.
"I'll get yer a bit o' paiper," she added, moving ponderously across it to a small desk against the wall. "'E gen'rally keeps some in 'is blottin'-book."
I seated myself at the small table in the centre, which was covered with a hideous rep cloth, and patiently awaited her investigations. It pleased me to think that I could soon transfer Billy to more congenial surroundings.
After fumbling about for a minute she produced the required articles and laid them on the table in front of me.
"Yer want some ink?" she asked.