The porter retired, recompensed by a shilling, which Wolf hurriedly produced from his pocket while his mother was opening her purse. When he had helped her into the interior of the stuffy little vehicle, he gave his order to the man on the box.

“Number Eighty-Five North Street!”

“Where are you taking me?” Mrs. Solent asked, as the bus rumbled off.

“To a room in the town for one night, Mother. The Lovelace was full. But I’ve got a lovely cottage for us at King’s Barton, near Mr. Urquhart’s drive-gate.”

“Where is this room? I remember every house in North Street.”

“It’s at Mr. Smith’s, the hatter’s.”