He pointed to a policeman
slowly patrolling the side walk. "Ask him," he said. "He'll know."
The policeman, duly questioned, seemed surprised at first; then
recollection evidently awoke in him.
"Mirrypoor Street?" he said. "Oh, yes! Second to your left, third to the
right--nice sort o' street for a car like yours to go into, too!"
Viner overheard this and put his head out of the window.
"Why?" he demanded.
The policeman, quick to recognize a superior person, touched his helmet
and stepped off the curb toward his questioner.
"Pretty low quarter down there, sir," he said, with a significant glance
in the direction concerned. "If you've business that way, I should advise
you to look after yourself--some queer places down those streets, sir."
"Thanks," responded Viner with a grim smile. "Go on, driver, as quick as
you can, and stop at the corner of the street."
The car swung out of Whitechapel Road into a long, dismal street, the
shabbiness of which increased the further the main thoroughfare was left
behind; and Viner, looking right and left, saw that the small streets
running off that which he was traversing were still more dismal, still
more shabby.
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