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Fletcher, J. S. (Joseph Smith), 1863-1935

"The Middle of Things"

Suspicious sort of spot, altogether."
"Well?" demanded Perkwite. "What next? You know best, Millwaters."
The clerk jerked a thumb down the side of the dismal street on which they
were standing.
"There's a public-house down there," he said, "almost opposite this
surgery. Fairly decent place for this neighbourhood--bar-parlour looking
out on the street. Better slip in there and look quietly out. But
remember, Mr. Perkwite--don't seem to be watching anything. We're just
going in for a bottle of ale, and talking business together.
"Whatever you recommend," said Perkwite.
He followed his companion down the street to the tavern, a joyless and
shabby place, the bar-parlour of which, a dark and smoke-stained room was
just then empty, and looked over its torn half-blind across the way.
"Certainly a queer place for a man who professes to be a peer of the
realm to visit!" he muttered. "Well, now, what do you propose to do,
Millwaters?"
"Hang about here and watch," whispered the clerk. "Look out!"
A face, heavy and bloated, appeared at a hatch-window at the back of the
room, and a gruff voice made itself heard.


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