I'll tell you a better plan
than that, sir--find the nearest telephone-box and call up our
people--call Mr. Carless, tell him what you've seen and get him to come
down and bring somebody with him. That'll be far better than calling the
police in."
"Give me your telephone-number, then," said Perkwite, "and keep a strict
watch while I'm away."
Millwaters repeated some figures and a letter, and Perkwite ran off up
the street and toward the Whitechapel Road, anxiously seeking for a
telephone booth. It was not until he had got into the main thoroughfare
that he found one; he then had some slight delay in getting in
communication with Carless and Driver's office; twenty minutes had
elapsed by the time he got back to the dismal street. At its corner he
encountered Millwaters, lounging about hands in pockets. Millwaters
wagged his head.
"Here's another queer go!" he said. "There's been another arrival at
Number 23--not five minutes since. Another of our little lot!"
"Who?" demanded Perkwite.
"Viner!" replied Millwaters. "Came peeping and perking along the
street, took a glimpse of the premises and the adjacent purlieus, rang at
Number 23, and was let in by--the party that came with Miss Wickham! Now,
whatever can he be doing there, Mr.
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