Explore "The Mystery of the Four Fingers" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Gurdon looked out from the shelter of the great portico to see the sheets of rain falling on the pavement. Silence reigned supreme but for the steady plash of the raindrops as they rattled on the pavements. To walk half a mile on such a night meant getting wet through; and Gurdon somewhat ruefully regarded his thin slippers and his light dust overcoat. Half a dozen times the night porter blew his whistle, but no sign of a cab could be seen.
"We shan't get one to-night," Venner said. "They are all engaged. There is only one thing for it -- you must take a room here, and stay till the morning. I've no doubt I can fit you up in the way of pyjamas and the things necessary."