Few are the ways of the West Central district that have changed
less within the last half-century than Nevill's Court, leading from
Great New Street into Fetter Lane. Its north side still consists
of the same quaint row of small low shops that stood there--doing
perhaps a little brisker business--when George the Fourth was King;
its southern side of the same three substantial houses each behind
a strip of garden, pleasant by contrast with surrounding grimness,
built long ago--some say before Queen Anne was dead.

Out of the largest of these, passing through the garden, then well
cared for, came one sunny Sunday morning, some fifteen years before
the commencement proper of this story, one Solomon Appleyard,
pushing in front of him a perambulator. At the brick wall
surmounted by wooden railings that divides the garden from the
court, Solomon paused, hearing behind him the voice of Mrs.
Appleyard speaking from the doorstep.

"If I don't see you again until dinner-time, I'll try and get on
without you, understand. Don't think of nothing but your pipe and
forget the child. And be careful of the crossings."

Mrs. Appleyard retired into the darkness. Solomon, steering the
perambulator carefully, emerged from Nevill's Court without
accident. The quiet streets drew Solomon westward. A vacant seat
beneath the shade overlooking the Long Water in Kensington Gardens
invited to rest.

"Piper?" suggested a small boy to Solomon. "Sunday Times,