It
didn't matter much; he could strike off by the Midland to Polterham,
and be there before noon. And again he slept.
When he had breakfasted, he called to the waiter and asked him how
far it was to that part of the town called Hotwells. Learning that
the road thither would bring him near to Clifton, he nodded with
satisfaction. Clifton was a place to be seen; on a bright morning
like this it would be pleasant to walk over the Downs and have a
look at the gorge of the Avon.
A cab was called. With one foot raised he stood in uncertainty,
whilst the driver asked him twice whither they were to go. At length
he said "Hotwells," and named a street in that locality. He lay back
and closed his eyes, remaining thus until the cab stopped.
Hastily he looked about him. He was among poor houses, and near to
docks; the masts of great ships appeared above roofs. With a quick
movement he drew a coin from his pocket, tossed it up, caught it
between his hands. The driver had got down and was standing at the
door.
"This the place? Thanks; I'll get out."
He looked at the half-crown, smiled, and handed it to the cabman.
In a few minutes he stood before an ugly but decent house, which had
a card in the window intimating that lodgings were here to let. His
knock brought a woman to the door.
"I think Mr. North lives here?"
"Yes, sir, he do live yere," the woman answered, in a simple tone.
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