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Sir Turnour stared at the singular figure which was now inside the room and busy with apologetic shuffles and bows. He seemed to be a small man of the professional class, a country doctor maybe, for sober black apparel was revealed under the flapping great-coat.
"Your pardon, sir," said the figure. "I'm sure I beg your pardon for intruding on you. But I'm seeking the landlord, and this hostel is as short of folk as a kirk on Monday."