Polly saw that she was in
a familiar thoroughfare and in front of a respectable establishment,
but it was not without a little distrust that she entered by the
private door and went upstairs. A large room, so ugly and
uncomfortable that it helped to reassure her, was quickly lighted.
Gammon requested the woman in attendance to bring pen, ink, and
paper, whereat Polly again stared her surprise.
"Come and sit over here," said Gammon, "away from the door. Now make
yourself comfortable, old girl. Sure you won't have anything?"
The writing materials were brought; the door was closed.
"Now we're all right. A long time since we saw each other, Polly.
Have you heard anything? Any more about Mr. C.?"
She shook her head.
"Well, look here now, I want you to write to him. You didn't believe
me when I said I knew. Well, you'll believe me now. I want you to
write to him, and to ask him to meet you _here_. If he won't come I
know what to do next. But you just write a few lines; you know how.
You want to see him at this coffee tavern at five o'clock tomorrow;
he's to come to the private door and ask for Miss--let's say Miss
Ellis--that'll do.
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