Evidently an occupant of
the house had been examining the visitor. Then shuffling footsteps came
along a passage within, and a light shone under the door. There was a
noise of bolts being withdrawn, and the rattle of a chain; and then the
handle turned and the door opened slowly inwards, and an old woman stood
there holding an oil lamp over her head. This was not very formidable at
any rate.
"I have been bidden to come here," he said, "by a letter delivered to me
an hour ago."
"Ah," said the old woman, and looked at him peeringly, "then you are for
Mr. Roger?"
"I daresay," said Anthony, a little sharply. He was not accustomed to be
treated like this. The old woman still looked at him suspiciously; and
then, as Anthony made a movement of impatience, she stepped back.
"Come in, sir," she said.
He stepped in, and she closed and fastened the door again behind him; and
then, holding the oil-lamp high over her head, she advanced in her
slippers towards the staircase, and Anthony followed. On the stairs she
turned once to see if he was coming, and beckoned him on with a movement
of her head. Anthony looked about him as he went up: there was nothing
remarkable or suspicious about the house in any way. It was cleaner than
he had been led to expect by its outside aspect; wainscoted to the
ceiling with oak; and the stairs were strong and well made. It was
plainly a very tolerably respectable place; and Anthony began to think
from its appearance that he had been admitted at the back door of some
well-to-do house off Cheapside.
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