"Constable," he said, "you will conduct this young lady"—he emphasised the word—"to the end of your beat. There you can hand her over to your comrade, and so on in turn until we reach the Pitt Hotel in Craven Street."
The man saluted.
But the woman spoke.
"I cannot go with you, sir," she said feebly, "for I must return at once."
"Return?—where to? Not to that man?—that Jabez!"
"To Jabez," she answered defiantly.
"But—but you will faint on the way—you are starved. At least allow me to do something for you—you, who have done so much for me. You will, you must take something to eat. I am afraid there is no cab to be found in this fog. Try and walk, Miss Miriam——"
She offered no further resistance, but drew her shawl more closely round her, and took the proffered arm of the man. X103 looked on somewhat grimly. It would be incorrect to say he was not nettled—he was distinctly, for by this arrangement he need not look for anything substantial. But X103 had not been in the force these many years without learning something of philosophy. So he vented his indignation and sense of general injury by putting to utter rout certain shadowy forms that had gathered round the halo of his lantern in the space of the last five minutes. They thought, no doubt, he was unnecessarily abrupt in his methods, but they dispersed without trouble, if a trifle reluctantly.
When the two had reached the far end of the bridge, constable X103 could not resist one parting shaft.
"She's a bad 'un, sir, take my word for it. I should send her off, sir, if I wos you. She's bound to get you into trouble."
"It strikes me you will get yourself into trouble, my friend, if you don't hold your tongue. Ah, here is the man on the next beat. It is he, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. He'll see you into the Strand, sir."
"Very well then, here you are. Good night. Come, Miriam."
Saying which the respectable elderly gentleman passed a coin to X103, and proceeded to button-hole his fellow. They vanished into the thickness, and virtue rewarded turned his bull's-eye on to the palm of his hand.
"Ten bob in gold! I'm blowed! He's a good 'un after all, that old rib. Seemed to know her name, and use it pat enough. H'm!"
And in that last grunt there was a whole world of possibility.
CHAPTER II.
A STRANGE ARRANGEMENT.
When, conceivably out of gratitude and pure philanthropy, this respectable elderly gentleman took this apparently disreputable, and, by no means elderly female, under his wing, and in the early morning hours appeared at the door of a sedate and wholly decorous hostelry, with a demand for a night's lodging for them both, he ran a very great risk of being misunderstood. They had been passed on from policeman to policeman with every care, though the pilotage dues were by no means inconsiderable. And, strange to say, they were admitted without parley.
Now Miriam had expected a vastly different reception. She was in no way oblivious to the appearance she presented, and was naturally inclined to exaggerate, rather than otherwise, its effect, notwithstanding the irreproachable bearing of her cavalier. The fact that she was received without demur by the landlady, made it, in her mind, only the more remarkable. She had a fair idea of the tendencies of her sex. But evidently the gentleman was known here, such knowledge being—it was equally evident—beyond question, for Mrs. Perks, to judge by the look of her, was not one to grant the benefit of any doubt. Her effect upon blue litmus paper would assuredly have been most striking and instantaneous. In spite of everything Miriam fell to thinking. But she was too weary and famished to cogitate for long. She decided to accept the circumstances as they were.
"Sir," said Mrs. Perks, addressing the elderly gentleman in the shrillest of voices, "if you only knew what I've suffered this blessed night—but that you never will. Oh, the awful 'orrors and ghastly visions I've 'ad of your 'avin' your throat cut from ear to ear, no less. Bein' a widder, and 'avin' no manly 'eart to lean on since Perks went below—that is 'is body I should say, for, as is well-known to you, Mr. Bartons, 'is soul soared straight upwards—I feel these things the more. Thank God you're 'ere, Mr. Bartons, safe and sound, and not 'acked about as I seed you in my mind's eye. 'Eaven be praised, I say, for it's long-sufferin' to us all!"
Then Mrs. Perks looked fixedly at Miriam, and stiffened herself into a very pillar of disapprobation. Then again she addressed Mr. Barton.
"And now, sir, p'raps you'll explain this."
"This," being, without doubt, indicative of Miriam, who, overcome as she was, had been unable to resist the grateful ease of a lounging chair close at hand.
So it was not going to be such plain sailing after all. The landlady had, it seemed, no intention of foregoing her more purely feminine prerogative. For a moment Miriam had it in her mind to make a clean bolt of it even then. But her deliverer stepped forward. She saw him now, as he stood in the light, for the first time clearly. A shrivelled-up diminished countenance it was she thought. He was quite bald, too, and his mouth was hard—almost ascetic. His looks belied him surely, for he had been all kindness and solicitude for her in her plight. Divested of his fur coat, his evening dress accentuated the leanness of his figure, as it does accentuate either one tendency or the other. He was quite short—hardly as tall as she herself. She wondered why he should so have troubled himself about her. To judge from his face, gratitude for what she had done for him would not go for much. Could it be that he had some ulterior motive? Hardly—unless—unless; but her weary brain refused to follow up the train of thought it had conceived.
As it turned out Mr. Barton made short work of the landlady and her required "explanation." Turning after her sharply, he crushed her volubility utterly by the adoption of a method nothing if not Socratian.
"Tell me, Mrs. Perks," he said, "how long have you known me?"
"Lawks a mercy, Mr. Bartons, sir, what a question! Why, maid, and wife, and widder, 'aven't I known you these forty years?"
"Quite so. And during that time have you discovered me to have any strong inclination towards your sex?"
"You 'ates 'em, Mr. Bartons, sir—'ates 'em, I know you does, and small blame to you. It ain't much as I thinks of 'em myself—it's mostly 'ussies they are."
Then again Mrs. Perks' eyes rested on the unhappy Miriam. She was too attractive altogether, despite her pitiful state, to please the good widow.
"That being so then, Mrs. Perks, you must allow me to say, 'don't be a fool!' Had I not had you in my mind as a thoroughly reliable and sensible woman, I should not have brought this young lady here."
Mrs. Perks snorted. It was not quite so sonorous a snort as that with which the policeman had accompanied his repetition of the word "lady," but it meant exactly the same thing. There was a world of contempt in it. Mr. Barton continued:
"But I feel sure, Mrs. Perks, I have not been mistaken in my estimate of your sound common-sense. Let me tell you that this lady has preserved my life—yes, Mrs. Perks, my life, and my purse. There are, I may say, other reasons for my bringing her here, but that I think should suffice for you. She has saved my life, Mrs. Perks. You will be so good therefore as to send something to eat, and a bottle of wine here, and to prepare the young lady's room."
"Oh, Mr. Bartons, so you was in danger! I know'd it. I felt sure of it." She pressed the candlestick she carried so close