The odors, unpleasantly mingled, of fried bacon and paraffin
oil, are wafted to the wayfarer from the porches of these family
residences.
Number 36 proved to be such a villa, and Inspector Dunbar contemplated
it from a distance, thoughtfully. As he stood by the door of the
public house, gazing across the street, a tired looking woman, lean and
anxious-eyed, a poor, dried up bean-pod of a woman, appeared from the
door of number 36, carrying a basket. She walked along in the direction
of the neighboring highroad, and Dunbar casually followed her.
For some ten minutes he studied her activities, noting that she went
from shop to shop until her basket was laden with provisions of all
sorts. When she entered a wine-and-spirit merchant's, the detective
entered close behind her, for the place was also a post-office. Whilst
he purchased a penny stamp and fumbled in his pocket for an imaginary
letter, he observed, with interest, that the woman had purchased, and
was loading into the hospitable basket, a bottle of whisky, a bottle of
rum, and a bottle of gin.
He left the shop ahead of her, sure, now, of his ground, always provided
that the woman proved to be Mrs. Brian. Dunbar walked along Forth Street
slowly enough to enable the woman to overtake him.
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