Richard Savage [antikvár]

He came deliberately down from Holborn, through the crowded thoroughfares of Fetter Lane and Fleet Street, through the dark defile of Butchers' Row, into the Strand. Indifferent to the scrape and squelch under his feet, he feil in at the side of a dray going westwards, and walked on for about three minutes, when he stopped and asked a passer-by whether this were Cecil Street. A brief direction, and he set off again, holding his head stiffly against the wind and mut-tering at the sharp-slanting rain. Soon he stopped. Yes, this was Cecil Street. The Three Keys? On the left hand there. In a minute he was at his destination."Richard Smithan appointment with Mr. Suter.""Richard SmithMr. Suter? Right! Here, boy, take this young man to Mr. Suter's roomnumber three, next floor."Richard Smith followed the lad up a short and narrow flight of stairs and along a landing to where he knocked on the door. "A visitor for Mr. Suter," he called out, and went.The door was opened by a handsomely dressed elderly gentleman, in a long coat, white waistcoat, spotless breeches and hose, and a well-appointed wig, who motioned to Richard Smith to enter."So here you are, Smith, eh? Come in, will you? You had better take off your coat and sit here by the fire. Are you wet?""No, not very much," the other answered awkwardly."Hm! We'll make süre, anyhow. You had better have a drop of punch, Smith, as a précaution. Rawsley, d'you mind? Thank you." He passed the drink to the new arrivai.3