"No," he answered slowly, "'e ain't broke nothing—leastways, not as I knows of. The pain's inside of 'im, so 'e says. Twisted 'is guts, I reckon, from the way 'e's carryin' on."
He relapsed into silence, and, checking his pace a few yards farther on, led the way down a dark and narrow alley.
They emerged on to a desolate strip of waste land, where stray piles of brick and other refuse were dotted about forlornly under the light of a solitary street lamp. Exactly opposite them were the partly demolished remains of a large warehouse, with two crazy and tumble-down houses still standing alongside. Behind these, half a mile wide, ran the dark and sluggish current of the Thames.
Colin's guide pointed across toward the dilapidated dwellings.
"That's the 'ouse," he observed, "the end one o' them two. You want to step careful, doctor; there's a number o' bad places abaht 'ere."
He set forward again, picking his way deliberately between the heaps of débris and the numerous pools of dirty water which infested the whole district. Colin followed close behind him, and after several minutes of this unpleasant progress they came out on to a muddy and deserted roadway which ran parallel with the river.
Colin glanced back over the route they had come. "A nice open situation," he remarked, "but I should think that the people who lived here were rather apt to break their necks."
"It's an orkard spot to get to in the dark," admitted his companion. "You'll be all right though, doctor. I'll see yer back meself as far as Flood Lane."
He crossed the road and advanced toward the houses, one of which appeared to be uninhabited. A dim light was burning on the ground floor of the second, and, mounting the broken step, he rapped twice on the door with his knuckles.
After some delay it was opened by a gaunt, haggard-looking woman, who held up the candle she was carrying and peered suspiciously into the darkness. She evidently recognized the visitor, for without inquiring his business she stepped back silently against the wall.