CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
PILMANSEY'S TEA ROOMS
Two hours later, it being then a quarter-to-one o'clock, Purdie and
Lauriston got out of a taxi-cab at the north-end of Tottenham Court Road
and walked down the right-hand side of that busy thoroughfare, keeping
apparently careless but really vigilant eyes open for a first glimpse of
the appointed rendezvous. But Pilmansey's Tea Rooms required little
searching out. In the midst of the big modern warehouses, chiefly given up
to furniture and upholstery, there stood at that time a block of old
property which was ancient even for London. The buildings were plainly
early eighteenth century: old redbrick erections with narrow windows in
the fronts and dormer windows in the high, sloping roofs. Some of them
were already doomed to immediate dismantlement; the tenants had cleared
out, there were hoardings raised to protect passers-by from falling
masonry, and bills and posters on the threatened walls announced that
during the rebuilding, business would be carried on as usual at some other
specified address. But Pilmansey's, so far, remained untouched, and the
two searchers saw that customers were going in and out, all unaware that
before evening their favourite resort for a light mid-day meal would
attain a fame and notoriety not at all promised by its very ordinary and
commonplace exterior.
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