Groping my way more carefully, for the rest of the journey, my heart beat high when I found the outer door, which had Mr. Traddles painted on it, open. I knocked. A considerable scuffling within ensued, but nothing else. I therefore knocked again.

A small sharp-looking lad, half-footboy and half-clerk, who was very much out of breath, but who looked at me as if he defied me to prove it legally, presented himself.

“Is Mr. Traddles within?” I said.

“Yes, sir, but he’s engaged.”

“I want to see him.”