Praed Street, at this time on a fine afternoon, wore its usual air of busy activity. The exodus from central London was still at its height, the crowds still passed along in bus or taxi towards the portals of Paddington station. On the other hand, the inhabitants of the neighbourhood, released from work, were beginning their weekend shopping. The pavement was crowded, and Mr. Martin, who had some distance to walk to his destination, looked about him curiously. Since he had put up his shutters for the last time, fifteen years ago, he had rarely revisited Praed Street, and even then he had only traversed it in a taxi, going to or from Paddington. The street had changed a little since he had been an inhabitant of it. Certainly there were fresh names over many of the shops, and, here and there, there had been alterations to the buildings he remembered. He glanced at a board on the opposite side of the street. Elmer Ludgrove. That was new since his day. The rather musty-looking shop was conspicuous among its neighbours by being closed. Praed Street, as a rule, does most of its business on Saturday afternoon.