It _was_ a horrid fog, but the lights made it not quite so bad outside, for the shops had got all their lamps on, and we could see them now and then. There was a lot of shouting going on, and yet every sound was muffled. There were not many carts or omnibuses or anything on wheels passing, and what there were, were moving slowly like ourselves.
After a few minutes it got darker again; it must have been when we got into Enderby Street, I suppose, for there are no shops, or scarcely any, there. I've often and often passed along it since, but I never do without thinking of that evening, or afternoon, for it was really not yet four o'clock.
'Nineteen, didn't you say?' asked the driver as I jumped out.
'Yes, nineteen,' I said. 'Stop here for a moment or two, till I see if we go in.'
For it suddenly struck me that _if_ we had the awful bad luck not to find Mrs. Wylie, we had better keep the cab, to take us to some hotel, otherwise it might be almost impossible to get another. And then we should be out in the street, with Margaret and her bundle, and worse still, her cough.
I made my way, more by feeling than seeing, up the steps, and fumbled till I found the bell. I had not actually told the others to stay in the cab, though I had taken care to keep the window shut when I got out, and I never dreamt but what they'd stay where they were till I had found out if Mrs. Wylie was there.
But just as the door opened--the servant came in double-quick time luckily, the reason for which was explained--I heard a rustling behind me, and lo and behold, there they both were, and the terrible red bundle too, looking huger and queerer than ever, as the light from inside fell on it.
We must have looked a funny lot, as the servant opened the door. She--it was a parlour-maid--did start a little, but I didn't give her time to speak, though I daresay she thought we were beggars, thanks to those silly children.
'Mrs. Wylie is staying here,' I said. I thought it best to speak decidedly. 'Is she at home?'
I suppose my way of speaking made her see we were not beggars, and perhaps she caught sight of the four-wheeler, looming faintly through the fog, for she answered quite civilly.
'She is not exactly staying here. She is in rooms a little way from here, but she comes round most afternoons. I thought it was her when you rang, but I don't think she'll be coming now--not in this fog.'