InaquarterofanhourFordwasagainbackinSowellStreetnowiserthanwhenhehadenteredit。Fromtheoutside，atleast，thethreehousesundersuspiciongavenosign。IntheproblembeforehimtherewasonepointthatFordfounddifficulttoexplain。Itwastheonlyonethatcausedhimtoquestioniftheletterwasgenuine。Whatpuzzledhimwasthis:Why，ifthegirlwerefreetothrowtwonotesfromthewindow，didshenotthrowthemoutbythedozen？Ifshewereabletoreachawindow，openingonthestreet，whydidshenotcallforhelp？Whydidshenot，byhurlingouteverysmallarticletheroomcontained，byscreams，bybreakingthewindow—panes，attractacrowd，and，throughit，thepolice？Thatshehadnotdonesoseemedtoshowthatonlyatrareintervalswasshefreefromrestraint，oratlibertytoenterthefrontroomthatopenedonthestreet。Woulditbeequallydifficult，Fordaskedhimself，foroneinthestreettocommunicatewithher？Whatsignalcouldhegivethatwoulddrawanansweringsignalfromthegirl？
Standingatthecorner，hiddenbythepillarsofaportico，thewaterdrippingfromhisrain—coat，Fordgazedlongandanxiouslyattheblankwindowsofthethreehouses。Likeblindeyesstaringintohis，theytoldnotales，betrayednosecret。Aroundhimthecommonplacelifeoftheneighborhoodproceededundisturbed。
Somewhereconcealedinthesinglerowofhousesagirlwasimprisoned，herlifethreatened;perhapsevenatthatmomentshewasfacingherdeath。While，oneitherside，shutfromherbythethicknessonlyofabrickwall，peopleweretalking，reading，makingtea，preparingtheeveningmeal，or，inthestreetbelow，hurryingby，intentontrivialerrands。Hansomcabs，prowlinginsearchofafare，passedthroughthestreetwhereawomanwasbeingrobbedofafortune，thedriversoccupiedonlywiththoughtsofapossibleshilling;ahousemaidwithajuginherhandandashawloverherbarehead，hastenedtothenear—bypublic—house;thepostmanmadehisrounds，anddeliveredcomicpostal—cards;apoliceman，sheddingwaterfromhisshiningcape，halted，gazedseverelyatthesky，and，unconsciousofthecrimethatwasgoingforwardwithinthesoundofhisownfootsteps，continuedstolidlyintoWimpoleStreet。
AhundredplansracedthroughFord’sbrain;hewouldarousethestreetwithafalsealarmoffireandleadthefiremen，withthetaleofasmokingchimney，tooneofthethreehouses;hewouldfeignillness，and，takingrefugeinoneofthem，atnightwouldexplorethepremises;hewouldimpersonateadetective，andinsistuponhisrighttosearchforstolenproperty。Asherejectedtheseandadozenschemesasfantastic，hisbrainandeyeswerestillalertforanychanceadvantagethatthestreetmightoffer。Buttheminutespassedintoanhour，andnoonehadenteredanyofthethreehouses，noonehadleftthem。Inthelowerstories，frombehindtheedgesoftheblinds，lightsappeared，butofthelifewithintherewasnosign。Untilhehituponaplanofaction，FordfelttherewasnolongeranythingtobegainedbyremaininginSowellStreet。Alreadytheanswertohiscablemighthavearrivedathisrooms;atGerridge’shemightstilllearnsomethingofPearsall。Hedecidedtorevisitboththeseplaces，and，whilesoengaged，tosendfromhisofficeoneofhisassistantstocovertheSowellStreethouses。Hecastalast，reluctantlookattheclosedblinds，andmovedaway。Ashedidso，twoitinerantmusiciansdraggingbehindthemasmallstreetpianoonwheelsturnedthecorner，and，astherainhadnowceased，oneofthempulledtheoil—clothcoveringfromtheinstrumentand，seatinghimselfonacamp—stoolatthecurb，openedthepiano。Afteradiscouragedglanceatthedarkenedwindows，theother，inahoarse，stridenttenor，totheaccompanimentofthepiano，begantosing。Thevoiceofthemanwasraucous，penetrating。Itwouldhavereachedtherecessesofatomb。
\"Shesellssea—shellsonthesea—shore，\"thevocalistwailed。\"Theshellsshesellsaresea—shells，I’msure。\"