"Come, little one," he says, getting to his feet and gathering their things. "I will take you there."
He cuts a meandering path through back streets and alleys, having learned it's best to avoid human attention, especially at this hour when there are more policemen about than citizens. At last, they arrive at the big old house. It's dark and foreboding, all the lights off, Julian's elderly landlady having gone to bed hours ago. Julian leads the way around the side and down to the basement door, his boots clomping on the iron stairs. He unlocks the door and ushers Brody inside.
A century ago, it was servants' quarters. Now it's a shabby basement flat rented out for one hundred pounds a week. It's not much to look at, just a parlor with dingy walls and sagging furniture. Beyond that lies a tiny washroom and a bedroom not much bigger than that.
Julian hurries over to light the gas fire, something he doesn't usually bother to do when it's just him alone.
"It will be warm in a few minutes," he says, smiling at Brody. "Here." He brings one of the old wing chairs over and puts it close to the fire. "This will help."