He almost snatched it from her, and stood up the better to
examine it under the gas-light. "Where is Montague Street?"
he asked, with rough directness.
"In Bloomsbury--alongside the Museum. That's one Montague
Street--I don't know how many others there may be."
Thorpe had already taken up his umbrella and was buttoning
his coat. "Yes--Bloomsbury," he said hurriedly.
"That would be his form. And you say he knew nothing
about my movements or whereabouts--nothing about
the Company, eh?" He looked at his watch as he spoke.
Evidently the presence of this stranger had excited him
a good deal.
"No," she assured him, reflectively; "no, I'm sure he
didn't. From what he said, he doesn't know his way about
London very well, or anywhere else, for that matter,
I should say."
Thorpe nodded, and put his finger to his forehead with a
meaning look. "No--he's a shade off in the upper story,"
he told her in a confidential tone. "Still, it's important
that I should see him,"--and with only a hasty hand-shake
he bustled out of the shop.
By the light of the street lamp opposite, she could see him
on the pavement, in the pelting rain, vehemently signalling
with his umbrella for a cab.
CHAPTER XV
We've got a spare room here, haven't we?" Thorpe asked his niece,
when she came out to greet him in the hall of their new
home in Ovington Square.
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