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But you can't do it, you know, friends said, to whom I applied for assistance in the matter of sinking myself down into the East End of London. You had better see the police for a guide, they added, on second thought, painfully endeavouring to adjust themselves to the psychological processes of a madman who had come to them with better credentials than brains. But I don't want to see the police, I protested. What I wish to do is to go down into the East End and see things for myself. I wish to know how those people are living there, and why they are living there, and what they are living for. In short, I am going to live there myself. You don't want to live down there! everybody said, with disapprobation writ large upon their faces. Why, it is said there are places where a man's life isn't worth tu'pence. The very places I wish to see, I broke in. But you can't, you know, was the unfailing rejoinder. Which is not what I came to see you about, I answered brusquely, somewhat nettled by their incomprehension. I am a stranger here, and I want you to tell me what you know of the East End, in order that I may have something to start on.

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