In the broad High Street, thronged with folk, and dissonant with tram cars and motor 'buses, he came upon a quarrelsome crowd looking up at a window above a poulterer's shop, from which hung something white, like a strip of wall paper.
Approaching, he perceived that it bore a crude drawing of a convict and "Good old Dartmoor" for legend.

White with anger, he stopped the car, leaped out on to the curb, and pushing his way through the crowd, entered the shop.

He seized one of the white-coated assistants by the arm.

"Show me the way to that first-floor room," he cried fiercely.
The assistant, half-dragged, half-leading, and wholly astonished, took him through the shop and pointed to the staircase.

Paul sprang up and dashed through the door into the room, which appeared to be some business office.