Merritt, of course," Chris said, promptly. "You
forget that I have his address. I am deeply interested in the welfare of
the criminal classes, and you are also an enthusiast. I've looked up the
names of one or two people in the directory who go in for that kind of
thing, and I'm going to get up a bazaar at Littimer Castle for the
benefit of the predatory classes who have turned over a new leaf. I am
particularly anxious for Mr. Merritt to give us an address. Don't you
think that will do?"
"I should think it would do very well indeed," Bell said.
The quaint and somewhat exclusive town of Moreton Wells was reached in
due course and the street where the Rev. James Merritt resided located at
length. It was a modest two-storeyed tenement, and the occupier of the
rooms was at home. Chris pushed her way gaily in, followed by Bell,
before the occupant could lay down the foul clay pipe he was smoking and
button the unaccustomed stiff white collar round his throat. Merritt
whipped a tumbler under the table with amazing celerity, but no cunning
of his could remove the smell of gin that hung pungently on the murky
atmosphere.
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