Chapter VIII

Paul spent the night at a youth hostel. After breakfast next morning he wrote and posted a letter to his mother and then set out for the centre of the city. The tobacconist had given him the number of the lawyer's office in Temple Lane and an address near Corn Market where Swann had lived some two years before.

Paul came to 15 Temple Lane at half-past nine. He saw a man who was unlocking the door of the house.

"Is this Mr. Gillet's office?" Paul asked him.

"It was," answered the man.

"He's left this address?"

"Correct. He's gone... to the City Graveyard."

"Gillet is gone, so Swann is my only chance now," thought Paul as he turned and walked away. In a short while he was knocking at the door of a house which stood in Corn Market Street. The door was opened by a woman.

"I am looking for Mr. Swann," Paul told her. "I understand, he lived here some time ago."

"Yes," the woman answered, "he had a room here for many months. But he has not lived here these two years."

"Where did he go?"

"He went to a lodging-house in Ware Street. I don't know the number, but it's kept by a man called Hart."

Ware Street was not far. It was a poor street with cheap shops and a tram passing along it. The bell was missing from the door of the lodging-house, so Paul had to knock on the door. A boy of twelve with a dirty face appeared.

He said that he knew no one by the name of Swann. His mother, who looked after the place, would be back at four o'clock. Paul told the boy that he would return and walked away. He again decided to go to the Public Library. It was now afternoon and the same clerk was on duty. As Paul approached he looked at him with interest. Paul filled in the form and handed it to the young man. Two heavy files were brought — the newspapers for the year 1922. Paul carried them to one of the tables, sat down and opened the first file. After going through it he passed to the second file and examined it carefully, page after page. When he was through with it the clock showed four o'clock. He rose to return the files.

"Did you find what you wanted?" the clerk asked. It seemed to Paul that the man was really interested.

"No, I didn't."

Paul had a sudden wish to tell him the truth.

“I was looking for the story of a trial where a police inspector called Swann was sentenced in the year 1922."

"That is no easy task, but if I come across it in one of the other files I'll put it aside for you. Are you... interested in the gentleman?"

"I'm trying to find out where he is now."

"Have you any idea where to look?"

"Perhaps he's still in the city. They say he's down and out."

"I see."

Paul stood for a moment, then thanked the clerk in a few words, put on his hat and went out of the library.

At five o'clock he was at the lodging-house again. He was told that Mrs. Hart had returned.

"Yes," she said, "I remember Swann well enough. He was down and out. Fell ill and couldn't hold his job. I wasn't sorry when he left."

"When did he leave?"

"About six months ago."

"You don't know where he went?"

"To Bromlea I think it was."

"Did he leave you his address?"

"Yes, he left his address. The question is, did I write it down."

She turned to the boy who stood listening. "Bring me the book from the room, Josey."

A moment later the boy brought her a large book. She began to turn over the pages.

"There! Didn't I tell you."

With a new hope in his heart Paul looked at the place she showed. There, written in pencil on the dirty page, was the address:

James Swann

c/o Roberts,