’HaveyouanyideawhereMissWadeistobefound？’
’Totellyouthetruth，’returnedMrMeagles，’it’sbecauseIhaveanaddledjumbleofanotiononthatsubjectthatyoufoundmewaitinghere。Thereisoneofthoseoddimpressionsinmyhouse，whichdomysteriouslygetintohousessometimes，whichnobodyseemstohavepickedupinadistinctformfromanybody，andyetwhicheverybodyseemstohavegotholdoflooselyfromsomebodyandletgoagain，thatshelives，orwasliving，thereabouts。’MrMeagleshandedhimaslipofpaper，onwhichwaswrittenthenameofoneofthedullby-streetsintheGrosvenorregion，nearParkLane。
’Hereisnonumber，’saidArthurlookingoverit。
’Nonumber，mydearClennam？’returnedhisfriend。’Noanything!
Theverynameofthestreetmayhavebeenfloatingintheair；for，asItellyou，noneofmypeoplecansaywheretheygotitfrom。