Ronnie Pryor’s most intimate friend would certainly not easily have recognised him. Even Beryl Gaselee would have passed him by in the street without a second glance, for his features were altered; he wore a small moustache, and his clothes were those of an East-end Jew. At the same time Cranch was dressed as a hard-working costermonger of the true Old Kent Road type.
Together they drove in a taxi across South London to the railway-arch at Walworth Road station, beneath which they alighted and, turning to the right along the Camberwell Road, crossed it and went leisurely into the Albany Road—that long, straight thoroughfare of dingy old-fashioned houses which were pleasant residences in the “forties” when Camberwell was still a rural village—the road which ran direct from Camberwell Gate to the Old Kent Road.
Darkness had already fallen as the pair strolled leisurely along until they passed a small house on the left, close to the corner of Villa Street.
As they went by, their eyes took in every detail. Not a large house, but rather superior to its neighbours, it lay back behind a small garden and seemed closely shuttered and obscure. Nearly opposite it Cranch’s sharp eyes espied a “To Let” board upon a house, and he at once suggested that if they hid behind the railing they could watch the house of mystery in security.
This they did, and after a little manœuvring—for there were many people passing in the vicinity—they both crouched beneath a soot-laden lilac-bush, which commanded full view of all who went from and came to the dark house before them.
As Ronnie crouched there in concealment one thought alone kept running through his brain. Truth to tell, he was much mystified as to the identity of that mysterious person who, from Liverpool, had given him warning.
Was it a trap? He had certainly not overlooked such a contingency.
For over an hour and a half the two men remained there, eagerly watching the diminishing stream of foot-passengers until at last, coming up from the Camberwell Road, Ronnie noticed a man approaching.
For some seconds he kept his eye steadily upon him, for the moon was now shining fitfully through the clouds.
“By Jove! How curious!” he whispered to his companion. “Why, that’s Knowles, one of the mechanics at Hendon! I wonder what he’s doing over here?”