r Sunday walks that
they said nothing, looked singularly dull, and would hail with obvious
relief the appearance of a friend. For all that, the two men put the
greatest store by these excursions, counted them the chief jewel of each
week, and not only set aside occasions of pleasure, but even resisted
the calls of business, that they might enjoy them uninterrupted.

It chanced on one of these rambles that their way led them down a
by-street in a busy quarter of London. The street was small, and what is
called quiet, but it drove a thriving trade on the week-days. The
inhabitants were all doing well, it seemed, and all emulously hoping to
do better still, and laying out the surplus of their gains in coquetry;
so that the shop-fronts stood along that thoroughfare with an air of
invitation, like rows of smiling saleswomen. Even on Sunday, when it
veiled its more florid charms and lay comparatively empty of passage,
the street shone out in contrast to its dingy neighbourhood, like a fire
in a forest; and with its freshly painted shutters, well-polished
brasses, and general cleanliness and gaiety of note, instantly caught
and pleased the eye of the passenger.

Two doors from one corner on the left hand going east, the line was
broken by the entry of a court; and just at that point a certain
sinister block of building thrust forward its gable on the street. It
was two stories high; showed no window, nothing but a door on the lower
story and a blind forehead of discoloured wall on the upper; and bore in
every feature the marks of prolonged and sordid negligence. The door,
which was equipped with neither bell nor knocker, was blistered and
distained. Tramps slouched into the recess and struck matches on the
panels; children kept shop upon the steps; the schoolboy had tried his
knife on the mouldings; and for close on a generation no one had
appeared to drive away these random visitors or to repair their ravages.

Mr. Enfield and the lawyer were on the other side of the by-street, but
when they came abreast of the entry, the former lifted up his cane and
pointed.

"Did you ever remark that door?" he asked; and when his companion had
replied in the affirmative, "it is connected in my mind," added he,
"with a very odd story."

"Indeed?" said Mr. Utterson, with a slight change of voice, "and what
was that?"

"Well, it was this way," returned Mr. Enfield: "I was coming home from
some place at the end of the world, about three