Apart from that, the actual journey through what to her was a totally unknown quarter of London was in itself a sufficiently stimulating experience. The crowds in the City, the flaring coster barrows in St. George's Road, and the gradually increasing squalor and gloom as they drew nearer to their destination, all provided her with an unfailing source of interest.
A little way down Shadwell High Street, at the corner of a side lane, Colin came to a halt in front of an uninviting-looking public house, alongside which was a closed gate leading apparently into a yard.
"This is where I generally leave the car," he announced. "Mark's place is only a few yards farther on."
As he spoke the door of the pub opened, and a stout gentleman in trousers, carpet slippers, and a rather dirty shirt loomed up in the opening.
"'Ullo, Mister Gray," he observed, in a kind of hoarse wheeze. "Quite a stranger, ain't yer?"
He spat genially into the gutter and, stepping forward, offered his hand to Colin.
"Brought a bit o' comp'ny with yer this time, I see," he added.
"That's right," said Colin. "Let me introduce you to each other. Mr. Higgins—Miss Seymour."
The fat man wiped his hand on the back of his trousers and transferred it to Nancy.
"Pleased to meet yer, miss," he remarked. "Any friend o' Mister Gray's a friend o' mine."