This seemed an accurate if not altogether flattering description of me, so I nodded my head.

“That’s right,” I said.  “I’m Mr. Nicholson.”  Then, as the heavily laden taxi-man staggered up the steps, I added:  “And these are my belongings.”

With another bob she turned round, and leading the way into the house opened a door on the right-hand side of the passage.

“This will be your sitting-room, sir,” she said, turning up the gas.  “It’s a nice hairy room, and I give it a proper cleaning out this morning.”

I looked round, and saw that I was in a typical “ground-floor front,” with the usual cheap lace curtains, hideous wall paper, and slightly stuffy smell.  At the back of the room, away from the window, were two folding doors.

My landlady shuffled across and pushed one of them open.  “And this is the bedroom, sir.  It’s what you might call ’andy—­and quiet too.  You’ll find that a nice comfortable bed, sir.  It’s the one my late ’usband died in.”

“It sounds restful,” I said.  Then walking to the doorway I paid off the taxi-man, who had deposited his numerous burdens and was waiting patiently for his fare.

As soon as he had gone, Mrs. Oldbury, who had meanwhile occupied herself in pulling down the blinds and drawing the curtains, inquired whether I should like anything to eat.

“I don’t think I’ll trouble you,” I said.  “I have got to go out in any case.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, sir—­no trouble at all.  I can put you on a nice little bit o’ steak as easy as anything if you ’appen to fancy it.”

I shook my head.  A few weeks ago “a nice little bit o’ steak” would have seemed like Heaven to me, but since then I had become more luxurious.  I was determined that my first dinner in London should be worthy of the occasion.  Besides, I had other business to attend to.

“No, thanks,” I said firmly.  “I don’t want anything except some hot water and a latchkey, if you have such a thing to spare.  I don’t know what time you go to bed here, but I may be a little late getting back.”

She fumbled in her pocket and produced a purse, from which she extricated the required article.

“I’m not gen’rally in bed—­not much before midnight, sir,” she said.  “If you should be later per’aps you’d be kind enough to turn out the gas in the ’all.  I’ll send you up some ’ot water by the girl.”

She went off, closing the door behind her; and picking up my parcels and bags I carried them into the bedroom and started to unpack.  I decided that the blue suit was most in keeping with my mood, so I laid this out on the bed together with a complete change of underclothes.  I was eyeing the latter with some satisfaction, when there came a knock at the door, and in answer to my summons the “girl” entered with the hot water.  She was the typical lodging-house drudge, a poor little object of about sixteen, with a dirty face and her hair twisted up in a knot at the back of her head.