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‘Curse you,’ said Philip. ‘You’re the last person I wanted
to see tonight. Who’s brought it?’
‘I think it’s the ‘usband, sir. Shall I tell him to wait?’
Philip looked at the address, saw that the street was fa-
miliar to him, and told the porter that he would find his
own way. He dressed himself and in five minutes, with his
black bag in his hand, stepped into the street. A man, whom
he could not see in the darkness, came up to him, and said
he was the husband.
‘I thought I’d better wait, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s a pretty rough
neighbour’ood, and them not knowing who you was.’
Philip laughed.
‘Bless your heart, they all know the doctor, I’ve been in
some damned sight rougher places than Waver Street.’
It was quite true. The black bag was a passport through
wretched alleys and down foul-smelling courts into which
a policeman was not ready to venture by himself. Once or
twice a little group of men had looked at Philip curiously
as he passed; he heard a mutter of observations and then
one say:
‘It’s the ‘orspital doctor.’
As he went by one or two of them said: ‘Good-night, sir.’
‘We shall ‘ave to step out if you don’t mind, sir,’ said the
man who accompanied him now. ‘They told me there was
no time to lose.’
‘Why did you leave it so late?’ asked Philip, as he quick-
ened his pace.
He glanced at the fellow as they passed a lamp-post.
‘You look awfully young,’ he said.

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