"He's gone down there," he said. "Nice neighbourhood, too! I know
something of it. Now, Mr. Perkwite, if you please, we'll separate. You
take the right of that street--I'll take the left. Keep a look out for my
gentleman's Homburg hat--grey, with a black band--and keep the tail of
your eye on me, too."
Cave's headgear was easily followed down the squalid street. Its owner
went swiftly ahead, with Millwaters in pursuit on one pavement, and the
barrister on the other, until he finally turned into a narrower and
shabbier thoroughfare. Then the clerk hurried across the road, attracted
Perkwite's attention, winked at him as he passed without checking his
pace, and whispered two or three words.
"Wait--by the street-corner!"
Perkwite pulled up, and Millwaters went down the dismal street in
pursuit of the Homburg hat. This excellent indication of its owner's
presence suddenly vanished from Perkwite's sight, and presently
Millwaters came back.
"Ran him to earth--for the time being, anyway," he said. "He's gone into
a surgery down there--a Dr. Martincole's. Number 23--brass plate on
door--next to a drug-shop.
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