"'Third-floor,'" he read out, "'Mr. Thomas Barlow, Commission Agent.'
Hum! I think we will look in on Mr. Barlow."
He stepped quickly up the stone stairs, and I followed, until we
arrived, somewhat out of breath, on the third-floor. Outside the
Commission Agent's door he paused for a moment, and we both listened
curiously to an irregular sound of shuffling feet from within. Then he
softly opened the door and looked into the room. After remaining thus
for nearly a minute, he looked round at me with a broad smile, and
noiselessly set the door wide open. Inside, a lanky youth of fourteen
was practising, with no mean skill, the manipulation of an appliance
known by the appropriate name of diabolo; and so absorbed was he in his
occupation that we entered and shut the door without being observed. At
length the shuttle missed the string and flew into a large waste-paper
basket; the boy turned and confronted us, and was instantly covered
with confusion.
"Allow me," said Thorndyke, rooting rather unnecessarily in the
waste-paper basket, and handing the toy to its owner. "I need not ask if
Mr. Barlow is in," he added, "nor if he is likely to return shortly.
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