My mother didn't answer.
'He doesn't look as though he's trying to get a taxi, either,' I said.
My mother was standing very still and stiff, staring across the street at the little man. We could see him clearly. He was in a terrific hurry. He was bustling along the pavement, sidestepping the other pedestrians and swinging his arms like a soldier on the march.
'He's up to something,' my mother said, stony-faced.
'But what?'
'I don't know,' my mother snapped. 'But I'm going to find out. Come with me.' She took my arm and we crossed the street together. Then we turned left.
'Can you see him?' my mother asked.
'Yes. There he is. He's turning right down the next street.'
We came to the corner and turned right. The little man was about twenty yards ahead of us. He was scuttling along like a rabbit and we had to walk fast to keep up with him. The rain was pelting down harder than ever now and I could see it dripping from the brim of his hat on to his shoulders. But we were snug and dry under our lovely big silk umbrella.
'What is he up to?' my mother said.
'What if he turns round and sees us?' I asked.
'I don't care if he does,' my mother said. 'He lied to us. He said he was too tired to walk any further and he's practically running us off our feet! He's a barefaced liar! He's a crook!'
'You mean he's not a titled gentleman?' I asked.
'Be quiet,' she said.
At the next crossing, the little man turned right again.
Then he turned left.
Then right.
'I'm not giving up now,' my mother said.
'He's disappeared!' I cried. 'Where's he gone?'
'He went in that door!' my mother said. 'I saw him! Into that house! Great heavens, it's a pub!'
It was a pub. In big letters right across the front it said THE RED LION.
'You're not going in, are you, mummy?'
'No,' she said. 'We'll watch from outside.'
There was a big plate-glass window along the front of the pub, and although it was a bit steamy on the inside, we could see through it very well if we went close.
We stood huddled together outside the pub window. I was clutching my mother's arm. The big raindrops were making a loud noise on our umbrella. 'There he is,' I said. 'Over there.'
The room we were looking into was full of people and cigarette smoke, and our little man was in the middle of it all. He was now without his hat or coat, and he was edging his way through the crowd towards the bar. When he reached it, he placed both hands on the bar itself and spoke to the barman. I saw his lips moving as he gave his order. The barman turned away from him for a few seconds and came back with a smallish tumbler filled to the brim with light brown liquid. The little man placed a pound note on the counter.
'That's my pound!' my mother hissed. 'By golly, he's got a nerve!'
'What's in the glass?' I asked.
'Whisky,' my mother said. 'Neat whisky.'
The barman didn't give him any change from the pound.