The Caravan Crime by Fergus Hume — Read

Within two weeks of rearranging his future, Dick had established himself in shabby rooms in a shabby Bloomsbury boarding-house. These were not such as he would have chosen had he been possessed of any plausible banking account; for a lavish up-bringing had inculcated luxurious tastes. However, a lengthy experience of lean days in African wilds had accustomed this stepson of Nature--so he regarded himself--to discomfort, and he was content with bed, board, fire, and limited pocket-money. Of course, he hoped sooner or later, to revert to the civilised delights of his nonage, when his father was alive and cash plentiful; but he could not see, at the moment, how he could recover these fair-weather days. The prospect of earning money as a riding master did not allure him; but it was all that offered, and an improvement on the alternative of walking the streets. So Lawson, thankful for the grudging gifts of the gods, went to interview Mr. Oliver Bollard, 37 Wren street, E.C. From him he hoped to learn details regarding the situation.

Being a born pedestrian, Dick preferred to walk, rather than to ride in an overcrowded bus, and sauntered leisurely along Holborn on his way to the City. Ignoring the traffic and the passers-by he mused over his present position. After seven hours of wrangling with a closefisted gipsy, he had sold the jingling caravan and its contents, together with the ancient steed, at a tolerable profit. The price would keep his head above water for the time being, so he was satisfied on that score. But he was by no means satisfied with the termination--or rather the non-termination of his adventure in Sarley Wood.