I helped him to carry them down to the cab."
"Which was a four-wheeler, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir."
"Mr. Barlow hasn't been here very long, has he?" Thorndyke inquired.
"No. He only came in last quarter-day--about six weeks ago."
"Ah well! I must call another day. Good-morning;" and Thorndyke strode
out of the building, and made directly for the cab-rank in the adjoining
street. Here he stopped for a minute or two to parley with the driver of
a four-wheeled cab, whom he finally commissioned to convey us to a shop
in New Oxford Street. Having dismissed the cabman with his blessing and
a half-sovereign, he vanished into the shop, leaving me to gaze at the
lathes, drills, and bars of metal displayed in the window. Presently he
emerged with a small parcel, and explained, in answer to my inquiring
look: "A strip of tool steel and a block of metal for Polton."
His next purchase was rather more eccentric. We were proceeding along
Holborn when his attention was suddenly arrested by the window of a
furniture shop, in which was displayed a collection of obsolete French
small-arms--relics of the tragedy of 1870--which were being sold for
decorative purposes.
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