He hied him up the street with alacrity.
The Collector, though he had the worse of the start, was not slow.
He also had tasted the Major's brown sherry.

He closed his ledgers, locked his desk, caught up his hat, and was closing the Custom House door behind him when, from the top of the Custom House steps, he saw the Major's door open to admit Dr.Hansombody.
Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy and pursue in imagination the pleasures of hope, attend to the story of Dr.
Hansombody, Mr.Pennefather, and the brown sherry! "Dr.Hansombody ?" With her own hand Miss Marty opened the door, and her start of surprise was admirably affected.

(Ah, Miss Marty! Who was it rated Lavinia this morning for a verbal fib, until the poor child dropped her head upon the kitchen table and with sobs confessed herself the chief of sinners ?) But even as she welcomed the apothecary, her gaze fell past him upon the form of a stranger who, sauntering up the street, had paused at the gate to scan the Major's house-front.
"I ask your pardon." The stranger, a long, lean, lantern-jawed man, raised his hat and addressed her with a strong French accent.
"But does Mr.Hymen inhabit here ?" "Yes, sir; Major Hymen--that is to say the Mayor--lives here." "Ah! he is also the Maire?
So much the better." He drew out a card.
"Will it please you, mademoiselle, to convey this to him ?" Standing on the third step he held up the card.

Miss Marty took it and read, "M.

Cesar Dupin." "Of Guernsey," added M.Dupin, rubbing his long unshaven chin while he stole a long look at the Doctor.