it happened that Professor Priestley and Harold were set down at the Register Office, and walked through the side streets to Mr Boost’s house. They were regarded with interest by the few inhabitants of the neighbourhood they met on their way; the case had attracted considerable attention in the newspapers, and the locality had for some days been a centre of pilgrimage. Harold shrank from the interested scrutiny and scarcely-veiled personal remarks, but the Professor’s attention seemed wholly devoted to close observation of his surroundings.
The first remark made by the latter was evoked by the spectacle of Mr Boost’s front garden. It was certainly a deplorable sight, littered with broken wooden crates, straw, shavings, and the remnants of the woven mats employed by furniture packers, with here and there a broken-down piece of furniture among the jumble.
‘This antique dealer of yours seems to be a slovenly sort of person,’ commented the Professor. ‘He lives in a room leading from the shop, I believe?’
‘Yes, when he is here,’ replied Harold. ‘He’s very often away, attending sales in the country. It is a pity that he was not at home when all this happened. He would have been bound to see the man break in.’
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