Off we started down the lane, or street, or whatever it was. If I had had my way, after all that had happened, I would not have attempted to enter the house until at any rate next morning; I would rather have wandered about the streets all night. But I could see that she was set on at least trying to get in. I did not wish to quarrel, or to be accused of a wish to desert her after promising to be her companion. So I stuck to her side. Presently she spoke.
“Do you know, Emily, I believe I haven’t got the very clearest recollection of the directions in uncle’s letter. Didn’t he say something about a passage?”
“He said that there was one between 13 and 14 Rosemary Street. The question is, is this Rosemary Street? We don’t know.”
“We’ll soon find out. Which are 13 and 14? It’s so dark it’s hard to tell.”
It was dark; which fact lent an additional charm to the situation. On one side were the backs of what seemed like mews; all they presented to us was a high dead wall. On the other was a row of cottages. If they were occupied all the inhabitants were in bed. There was not a light to be seen at any of the windows. Pollie began to peer at the numbers on the doors.
“This is 26.” She passed on. “And this is 25; so 13 and 14 must be this way.” We went farther along the street. “Here is 14—and here’s the passage.”
There was a passage, between two of the mean little houses. But so narrow an one that, if we had not been on the look-out for it, we should have passed it by unnoticed. Such was the darkness that we could not see six feet down it, so that it was impossible to tell where it led to, or what was at the end. I did not like the idea of venturing into it at all. I would have given almost anything to have flown down the street and sought the protection of that nice policeman. My
