He wandered on through ways broad and narrow, climbing up one steep lane and descending again by the next, hardly aware of direction and not noticing whether he went east or west, north or south, up or down.
At last, at a corner, he chanced to read the name of a street.

It was familiar enough to him, as a Neapolitan, but just now it reminded him of something which might possibly help to distract his attention.

He stopped and got out his pocket-book, and found in it a card, glanced at the address on it, and then once more at the name of the street.

Then he went on till he came to the right number, entered a gloomy doorway, black with dampness and foul air, ascended four flights of dark stone steps, and stopped before a small brown door.

The card nailed upon it was like the one he had in his pocket-book.