The Club of Queer Trades
man. A great part of the solid darkness in front of us was the darkness of his body.
At first I thought he had turned to face us. But though we were hardly a yard off, he did not realize that we were there. He tapped four times on a very low and dirty door in the dark, crabbed street. A gleam of gas cut the darkness as it opened slowly. We listened intently, but the interview was short and simple and inexplicable as an interview could be. Our exquisite friend handed in what looked like a paper or a card, and said:
"At once. Take a cab."
A heavy, deep voice from inside said:
"Right you are."
And with a click we were in blackness again, and striding on after the striding stranger through a labyrinth of London lanes, the lights just helping us. It was only five o clock, but winter and the fog had made it like midnight.
"This is really an extraordinary walk for the patent-leather boots," I repeated.
"I don't know," said Basil, humbly. "It leads to Berkeley Square."
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