A summer’s day in Islington, full of the mournful wail of antique-restoring machinery. Fenchurch was unavoidably busy for the afternoon, so Arthur wandered in a blissed-out haze and looked at all the shops which, in Islington, are quite an useful bunch, as anyone who regularly needs old woodworking tools, Boer War helmets, drag, office furniture or fish will readily confirm. The sun beat down over the roof gardens. It beat on architects and plumbers. It beat on barristers and burglars. It beat on pizzas. It beat on estate agent’s particulars. It beat on Arthur as he went into a restored furniture shop. It’s an interesting building, said the proprietor, cheerfully. There’s a cellar with a secret passage which connects with a nearby pub. It was built for the Prince Regent apparently, so he could make his escape when he needed to. You mean, in case anybody might catch him buying stripped pine furniture, said Arthur No, said the proprietor, not for that reason. You’ll have to excuse me, said Arthur. I’m terribly happy. I see. He wandered hazily on and found himself outside the offices of Greenpeace. he remembered the contents of his file marked “Things to do urgent!”, which he hadn’t opened again in the meantime. He marched in with a cheery smile and said he’d come to give them some money to help free the dolphins. Very funny, they told him, go away. This wasn’t quite the response he had expected, so he tried again. This time they got quite angry with him, so he just left some money anyway and went back out into the sunshine. Just after six he returned to Fenchurch’s house in the alleyway, clutching a bottle of champagne. Hold this, she said, shoved a stout rope in his hand and disappeared inside through the large white wooden doors from which dangled a fat padlock off a black iron bar. The house was a small converted stable in a light industrial alleyway behind the derelict Royal Agricultural Hall of Islington. As well as its large stable doors it also had a normal-looking front door of smartly glazed panelled wood with a black dolphin door knocker. The one odd thing about this door was its doorstep, which was nine feet high, since the door was set into the upper of the two floors and presumably had been originally used to haul in hay for hungry horses. An old pulley jutted out of the brickwork above the doorway and it was over this that the rope Arthur was holding was slung. The other end of the rope held a suspended ‘cello. The door opened above his head. 伊斯林頓的夏日，充斥着文物修復機器的哀鳴。 芬琪詩下午很無奈地有事兒要忙，因此阿瑟在一片迷醉的薄霧中游蕩，看着那些伊斯林頓的商店，那些商店很有用，任何一個經常需要舊木工刀具，布爾戰爭時期的頭盔，農具，辦公室傢俱和魚類的人都會很樂意去逛的。 陽光灑在屋頂花園上，灑在建築師和水管工上，灑在法律顧問和夜賊上，灑在比薩餅上，灑在地產經紀人的摘要上。 陽光灑在正要走進一間重建的傢俱店的阿瑟上。 “這是個有趣的建築，”店主愉快地說，“那兒的一個地窖裏有條密道通往附近的酒館。這很明顯是爲了攝政王修建的，這樣他可以在需要的時候逃跑。” “您的意思是，爲了防止某人抓見他在買松木傢俱。”阿瑟說。 “不，”店主說，“不是那個原因。” “您可得原諒我，”阿瑟說，“我今天開心慘了。” “我明白了。” 他漫無目的地瞎逛，發現自己來到了綠色和平組織辦公室的門外。他想起了自己標着“待辦事項——緊急！”卻再也沒打開過的一份文件的內容。他帶着愉快的微笑闊步走進辦公室說他是來爲解放海豚捐錢的。 “很有趣，”他們告訴他，“滾吧。” 這可不是他預料中的迴應，因此他又試了一次。這一次他們對他真的怒了，於是他乾脆撂下一點錢然後跑回陽光下。 剛過了六點，他回到了小巷裏芬琪詩的房子，手裏攥着一瓶香檳。 “拿着，”她一邊說一邊把一根結實繩子塞到他手裏隨後消失在黑鐵條上掛着大鎖的巨大白色木門後面。 這幢房子是由廢棄的伊斯林頓皇家農業廳後面的輕工業小巷裏的一間小馬廄改建而來的。它既有巨大的馬廄門，也有樣貌普通的鑲着漂亮光滑的木條和黑色海豚形門環的前門。那扇門的詭異之處在於它的門階，那門階有九英尺高，因爲那扇門是開向兩塊地板的上部，想來原先是用來爲飢餓的馬匹拉進乾草的。 一箇舊滑輪從門上方的砌磚裏伸出來，上面吊着阿瑟手裏拿着的那根繩子，那根繩子的另一端懸着一把大提琴。 門在他頭頂上打開了。
