Having ascertained by the breathing which room Thames occupied, he speedily contrived to fasten him in. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen.
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