The friendly darkness, at that hour, renders it easy for her to ascertain whether this be so or not; and it is so, for the passenger not to be missed twice arrives among the rest.
'Now let me see what becomes of you.

Go on!' An observation addressed to the air, and yet it might be addressed to the passenger, so compliantly does he go on along the High Street until he comes to an arched gateway, at which he unexpectedly vanishes.

The poor soul quickens her pace; is swift, and close upon him entering under the gateway; but only sees a postern staircase on one side of it, and on the other side an ancient vaulted room, in which a large-headed, gray-haired gentleman is writing, under the odd circumstances of sitting open to the thoroughfare and eyeing all who pass, as if he were toll-taker of the gateway: though the way is free.
'Halloa!' he cries in a low voice, seeing her brought to a stand-still: 'who are you looking for ?' 'There was a gentleman passed in here this minute, sir.' 'Of course there was.

What do you want with him ?' 'Where do he live, deary ?' 'Live?
Up that staircase.' 'Bless ye! Whisper.

What's his name, deary ?' 'Surname Jasper, Christian name John.