I watched as the roads began to be busier and the country hedges began to give way to palings and walls; I watched the leaf become brick, the grass become cinders and dust, the ditches kerb-stones.

Still, it took all that day to reach it. We might have found out the rail-way station and taken a train: but I thought we ought to keep the little money we had left, for food. We walked for a while with a boy who had a great big basket on his back, that he had filled with onions: he showed us to a place where waggons came, to pick up vegetables for the city markets. We had missed the best of the traffic, but we got a ride, in the end, with a man with a slow horse, taking scarlet beans to Hammersmith. He said Charles made him think of his son -- Charles had that sort of face -- so I let them ride up front together, and sat in the back of the cart, with the beans. I sat with my cheek against a crate, my eyes on the road ahead, and now and then the road would rise and show us London again, grown a little nearer. I might have slept; but I couldn't keep from watching.

From Hammersmith, we walked. That part of London was strange to me, but I found I knew my way all right -- just as I had known, in the country, which road to take at a fork. Charles walked beside me, blinking, and sometimes catching hold of the cuff of my sleeve; in the end I took his hand to lead him across a street, and he let his fingers stay there. I saw us reflected in the glass of a great shop window -- me in my bonnet, him in his plain pea-jacket -- we looked like the Babes in the bloody Wood.

When once the cart drew close to the side of a house that was pasted, two inches thick, with fluttering bills, I reached and tore free a strip of poster -- held it for a second, then let it fly. It had a picture of a hand upon it, holding a pistol. It left soot on my fingers. Then I knew I was home.

"Wait, Charles," I said, putting my hand to my heart and turning away from him. I did not want him to see me so stirred up. But then, the sharpest part of my feelings being over, I began to think.

Then we reached Westminster, and got our first proper view of the river; and I had to stop.

I took him down a dark and narrow street. But then I thought, a dark and narrow street would be the worst kind of street to be caught in. I turned instead -- we were somewhere near Charing Cross now -- into the Strand; and after a time we came to the end of a road that had one or two little stalls, selling second-hand clothes. I went to the first we came to, and bought Charles a woollen scarf. For myself, I got a veil.

"We ought not to cross the water just yet," I said, as we walked on. I was thinking of who we might bump into. Suppose we chanced upon Gentleman? Or, suppose he chanced upon us? I did not think he would put a hand upon me, himself; but fifteen thousand pounds is a deal of money, and I knew he was up to hiring bullies to do his bad work for him. I had not thought of this, until now. I had thought only of reaching London. I began to look about me, in a new way.

Charles saw me do it. "What is it, miss?" he said.

"Nothing," I answered. "Only, I'm afraid there may still be men, sent out by Dr Christie. Let's cut down, here."

The man who sold it to me teased me. "Don't care for a hat, instead?" he said. "Your face is too pretty to hide."

I held out my hand for my half-penny change. "All right," I said, impatient. "So's my arse."

We ended up at St Paul's. We went in, and I sat in one of the pews while Charles walked about and looked at the statues. I thought, "I must only get to Lant Street, and then I shall be saved"; but what was worrying me was the thought of the story that Gentleman might have put about the Borough.

It looked badly above my bonnet and pale print gown, but I thought I might pass for a girl with scars, or with some kind of ailment of the face. I made Charles draw the woollen scarf about his mouth and pull down his cap. When he complained that the day was hot I said, "If I get taken by Dr Christie's spies before I bring you to Mr Rivers, how hot do you think you'll find it, then?"

He looked ahead, to the crush of coaches and horses at Ludgate Hill. It was six o'clock, and the traffic was at its worst.

"Not much at all. But, we must be careful. I have to think. Let us find somewhere quiet…"

Charles flinched. I did not care. I put on the veil and felt better.

"Then when will you bring me to him?" he said. "And how much further does he live?"

I shivered. St Paul's was cold, even in July. The glass at the windows was losing its colours, as the afternoon turned to night.

At Dr Christie's, now, they would be waking us up to take us down to our suppers. We would have breadand-butter, and a pint of tea… Charles came and sat beside me. I heard him sigh. He had his cap in his hands, and his fair hair shone. His lip was perfectly pink. Three boys in white gowns went about with flames on sticks of brass, lighting more lamps and candles; and I looked at him and thought how well he would fit in among them, in a gown of his own.

Say all of Mr Ibbs's nephews had had their hearts turned against me? Say I met John Vroom before I reached Mrs Sucksby? His heart did not need turning; and he would know me, even behind my veil. I must be careful. I should have to study the house -- make my move only when I knew how the land lay. It was hard, to be cautious and slow; but I thought of my mother, who had not been cautious enough. Look what happened to her.

Then I looked at his coat. It was a good one, though rather marked by dust.

"How much money have we now, Charles?" I said.

He cried as he handed it over.

I said we would get the coat back in a day or two. I bought him some shrimps and a piece of bread-and-butter, and a cup of tea.

We had a penny and a half. I took him to a pawn-shop on Watling Street, and we pledged his coat for two shillings.

"London shrimps," I said. "Yum, ain't they lovely?"

He did not answer. When we walked on, he walked a step behind me with his arms about himself, his eyes on the ground. His eyes were red -- from tears, and also from grit.

"Oh how," he said, "shall I ever see Mr Rivers now? He'll never want a boy in shirt-sleeves!"

We crossed the river at Blackfriars, and from there, though I had been going so carefully, I went more carefully still. We kept away from the back lanes and alleys, and stuck to the open roads; and the twilight -- which is a false light, and always a good light for doing any kind of shady business in, better even than darkness -- helped to hide us. Every step we took, however, was taking me closer to home: I began to see certain familiar things -- even, certain familiar people -- and felt, again, a stir in my head and heart, that I thought would quite undo me.

"Not safe," I said again, "while Dr Christie's men are still behind us."

When I spoke, my voice was thick. I said, "See that black door, Charles, with the window in it? That's the door to my own house. The lady lives there, that's been like my mother. I should like more than anything now, to run to that door; but I shan't. It ain't safe."

Then we reached Gravel Lane and the Southwark Bridge Road, turned up to the west end of Lant Street and stood looking along it; and my blood rushed so fast and my heart rose so high, I thought I should swoon. I gripped the brick wall we rested against and let my head drop, until the blood went slower.

"Not safe?" he said. He gazed about him, fearfully. I suppose those streets -- that looked so dear to my eyes I could have lain down and kissed them -- might have looked rather low to his.

But I looked along the street, at Mr Ibbs's door, and then at the window above it. It was the window to the room I shared with Mrs Sucksby, and the temptation to go closer to it was too great. I caught hold of Charles and pushed him before me, and we walked, then stood at a wall where there was a bit of shadow between two bulging bow-windows.

Some kids went by, and laughed at my veil. I knew their mothers, they were neighbours of ours; and I began to be afraid again, of being seen, and recognised. I thought I was a fool, after all, to have come so far down the street; then I thought, "Why don't I just make a run at the door, calling out for Mrs Sucksby?" Maybe I'd have done it. I can't say. For I had turned, as if to rearrange my bonnet; and while I was still making up my mind Charles put his hand to his mouth, and cried out, "Oh!"

The kids that had laughed at my veil had run far down the street, and then had parted, to let someone walk between them.

It was Gentleman. He was wearing that old slouch hat, and had a scarlet cloth at his throat. His hair and whiskers were longer than ever. We watched him saunter. I think he was whistling. Then, at Mr Ibbs's shop-door, he came to a stop. He put his hand to the pocket of his coat and drew out a key. He kicked his feet against the step -- first the right, then the left -- to knock the dust from them; then he fitted the key in the lock, glanced idly about, and went inside. He did it all, in the easiest and most familiar way you can imagine.

I saw him, and quivered right through. But my feelings were queer. "The devil!" I said. I should like to have killed him, to have shot him, to have run at him and struck his face. But the sight of him had also made me afraid, more afraid than I ought to have been -- as afraid as if I were still at Dr Christie's and might at any moment be taken, shaken, bound and plunged in water. My breath came strangely, in little catches.

I don't think Charles noticed. He was thinking of his shirt-sleeves. -- "Oh!" he still said. "Oh! Oh!" He was looking at his fingernails, and at the smudges of dirt on his cuffs. I caught hold of his arm. I wanted to run -- back, the way we had come. I wanted to run, more than anything. I almost did.

"Come on," I said. "Come, quick." Then I looked again at Mr Ibbs's door -- thought of Mrs Sucksby behind it -- thought of Gentleman, cool and easy at her side. Damn him, for making me afraid of my own home!

"I won't be chased away!" I said. "We'll stay, but we'll hide. Come, here." And I gripped Charles tighter and began to push him, not away from Lant Street, but further along it. There were rooming-houses, all along that side. We reached one, now. "Got beds?" I said, to the girl at the door.

"Got a room?" I said quickly.

"Might have," she answered, trying to see beyond my veil.

"That one costs more."

"We'll have it for the week. I'll give you a shilling now, and pay you the rest tomorrow." She made a face; but she wanted gin, I knew it. "All right," she said. She got to her feet, put the baby on the step, and took us up a slippery staircase.

"Got half a one," she said. Half was not enough. We went to the next house, and then the next. They were both full. At last we reached the house right across from Mr Ibbs's. There was a woman on the step with a baby. I did not know her. That was good.

"At the front?" I looked up and pointed. "That one?"

The room was small and dark, with two low beds and a chair. The window had shutters closed before it, on the street-side, and there was a stick with a hook hung next to the glass, meant for opening them.

There was a man dead drunk on the landing. The door to the room she led us into had no lock to it, only a stone for propping it shut.

"You do it like this," said the woman, beginning to show us. I stopped her. I said I had a weakness of the eye and didn't care for sunlight.

"I don't believe you. You told a lie to that lady, about having a poor eye. You took that gown and those shoes, and that pie. That pie made me sick. You have brought me to a horrible house."

"Sit down," I said. I put my face back to the window.

"I want my jacket," he said.

For I had seen straight away that the shutters had little holes cut in them, that were more or less perfect for what I wanted; and when the woman had got our shilling off us and gone, I shut the door behind her, took off my veil and bonnet, then put myself at the glass and looked out.

"You can't have it. The shop is closed. We shall get it tomorrow."

"I have brought you to London. Ain't that what you wanted?"

"You haven't seen the best parts yet. Go to sleep. We'll get your jacket back in the morning. You shall feel like a new man then."

"I thought London would be different."

There was nothing to see, however. Mr Ibbs's shop door was still shut, and Mrs Sucksby's window dark. I watched for quite a minute before I remembered Charles. He was standing, gazing at me, squeezing his cap between his hands. In some other room a man gave a shout, and he jumped.

"Weren't they," I answered, my eye at the shutter still. "I'd say he needs a boy to trim them."

"Weren't Mr Rivers's whiskers long, though?" he said.

"Don't he just!" He sighed then, and lay back upon the bed, putting his cap over his eyes; and I kept watch at the glass. I kept watch, like cats keep watch at mouse-holes -- not minding the hours as they passed, not thinking of anything but what I gazed at. The night grew dark, and the street -- that was a busy street, in summer grew empty and still, the kids all gone to their beds, the men and women come back from the public houses, the dogs asleep.

"This bed've got black hairs in it."

I heard him sit and rub his face. I thought he might be about to cry again. But then, after a minute he spoke, and his voice had changed.

"Red hairs won't hurt you."

"How shall we get it? You just gave our shilling to that lady."

"You mustn't ask. Go to sleep. Ain't you tired?"

"Then take the other."

"How?"

"I shall get us another shilling tomorrow."

"That one has red hairs."

A girl. A girl, very slim at the waist… I saw her, and began to shake. She came on, while Mrs Sucksby moved about the room behind her, taking off her brooches and rings. She came right to the glass. She lifted her arm to rest it upon the bar of the window-sash, and then she stood with her brow upon her wrist, and grew still. Only her fingers moved, as they plucked idly at the lace across the window. Her hand was bare. Her hair was curled. I thought, It can't be her. Then Mrs Sucksby spoke again, the girl lifted her face, the light of the streetlamp fell full upon it; and I cried out loud.

In the other rooms in the house, people walked, pulled chairs across the floor; a baby cried. A girl -- she was drunk, I suppose -- laughed, on and on. Still I watched. Some clock struck off the hours. I could not hear bells without wincing, now, and felt every one of them: at last came the twelve, and then the half, and I was listening out for the threequarters -- still watching, still waiting; but beginning to wonder, perhaps, what it was I thought I would see -- when this happened: There came a light and a shadow, in Mrs Sucksby's room; and then a figure -- Mrs Sucksby herself! My heart nearly flew into bits. Her hair showed white, and she had her old black taffeta gown on. She stood with a lamp in her hand, her face turned from me, her jaw moving -- she was talking to someone else farther back in the room, someone who now came forward, as she moved back.

I moved back from the window. My own white face was reflected there, the streetlight striking it -- on the cheek, beneath my eye -- in the shape of a heart. I turned from the glass. My cry had woken Charles, and I suppose my look was peculiar.

She might have heard me -- though I don't think she can have -- for she turned her head and seemed to look at me, to hold my gaze across the dusty street and the darkness, for quite a minute. I don't think I blinked, in all that time. I don't think she did, her eyes stayed open -- I saw them, and remembered their colour at last.

I put my hand before my mouth. "Oh, Charles!" I said.

Then she turned back into the room, took a step away, caught up the lamp; and as she lowered the flame Mrs Sucksby went close to her, lifted her hands, and begin to unfasten the hooks at the back of her collar. Then came darkness.

"Miss, what is it?" he said in a whisper.

I took a couple of staggering steps towards him. "Charles, look at me! Tell me who I am!"

"Not miss, don't call me miss! I never was a miss, though they made me out one. -- Oh! She has taken everything from me, Charles. She has taken everything and made it hers, in spite. She has made Mrs Sucksby love her, as she made -- Oh! I'll kill her, tonight!"

"Who, miss?"

I ran in a kind of fever, back to the shutter, to look at the face of the house. I said, "Now, might I climb to the window? I could force the bolt, creep in, and stab her as she lies sleeping. Where is that knife?"

He watched me in terror; then came and, with trembling fingers, showed me how, I ground the blade.

I ran again, and caught it up and tried its edge. "Not sharp enough," I said. I looked about me, then picked up the stone that was used as a door-stop, and drew the blade across it.

"Like this?" I said to Charles. "Or like this? Which makes the best edge? Come on, come on. You're the bloody knife-boy, aren't you?"

"That's good," I said. "That will feel good, with its point against her breast." Then I stopped. "But, don't you think that, after all, a death by stabbing comes rather quick? Had I not ought to find a slower way?" -- I thought of stifling, strangling, beating with a club. -- "Have we a club, Charles? That will take longer; and oh! I should like to have her know me, as she dies. You shall come with me, Charles. You shall help. -- What's the matter?"

"I want Mr Rivers!"

I said, "Look at you. You ain't the boy. That boy had nerve."

He said, "You ain't -- You ain't the lady you seemed to be at Briar!"

I laughed, a mad laugh. "I've got news for you. Mr Rivers ain't quite the gent you thought him, either. Mr Rivers is a devil and a rogue."

"If he signed it, it must have been true!"

"Better that, than -- Oh!" He sat upon the floor and hid his face. "Oh! Oh! I was never more miserable, in all of my life. I hate you!"

"You want to man for a devil?"

"And I hate you," I said, "you fucking nancy." I still had the stone in my hand. I threw it at him.

"They never knew him like I did. He's bad, he's rotten."

"He's a villain."

"He's a gem of a man! Everyone at Briar said so."

He made his hands into fists. "I don't care!" he cried.

He stepped forward. "He ain't!"

"He is, though. He ran off with Miss Maud, told everyone I was her and put me in a madhouse. Who else do you think it was, signed my order?"

He had walked to the wall and stood with his back against it, and begun to quiver.

It missed him by about a foot; but the sound of it striking the wall and floor was awful. I was shaking, now, almost as badly as he was. I looked at the knife I held, then put it from me. I touched my face. My cheek and brow were wet with a horrible sweat. I went to Charles and knelt beside him. He tried to push me away.

"Get off me!" he cried. "Or, kill me now! I don't care!"

"Charles, listen to me," I said, in a steadier voice. "I don't hate you, truly. And you mustn't hate me. I am all you've got. You have lost your place at Briar, and your aunty don't want you. You can't go back to the country now. Besides, you should never find your way out of Southwark, without my help. You should wander and grow bewildered; and London is full of cruel hard men who do unspeakable things to bewildered fair-haired boys. You might be taken by the master of a ship, and finish up in Jamaica. How should you like that? Don't cry, for God's sake!" -- He had begun to sob. -- "You think I shouldn't like to cry? I have been dreadfully cheated, and the person that cheated me worst is lying at this moment in my own bed, with my own mother's arms about her. This is a greater thing than you can understand. This is a matter of life and death. I was foolish to say I would kill her tonight. But give me a day or two more, and let me think. There's money over there and -- I swear it, Charles! -- there are people there too who, once they know how I've been wronged, will give any kind of sum to the boy that has helped me back to them…"

He shook his head, still crying; and now, at last, I began to cry, too. I put my arm about him and he leaned into my shoulder, and we shuddered and wailed until, finally, someone in the room next door began to bang on the wall and call out for us to stop.

"There, now," I said, wiping my nose. "You're not afraid, now? You'll sleep, like a good boy?"

But I kept wakeful, all through that night. I thought of Maud, across the street, lying breathing in Mrs Sucksby's arms, her mouth open like his, like a flower, her throat perfectly slender, and perfectly white and bare.

He said he thought he would, if I would keep beside him; and so we lay together on the bed with the red hairs in it, and he slept, with his pink lips parted, and his breaths coming even and smooth.

By the time the morning came, I had the beginnings of a plan worked out. I stood at the window and watched Mr Ibbs's door for a time but then, seeing noone stirring, gave it up. That could wait. What I needed now was money. I knew how to get it. I made Charles brush his hair and put a parting in it, then took him quietly from the house, by the back way. I took him to Whitechapel -- a place, I thought, far enough from the Borough for me to risk going about without my veil. I found a spot on the High Street.

"Let's what?"

"Stand here," I said. He did. "Now, remember how you cried so hard last night? Let's see you do it again."

I caught hold of his arm and pinched it. He gave a squeal, then began to snivel. I put my hand on his shoulder and looked up and down the street, in an anxious way. A few people gazed curiously at us. I beckoned them over.

Of course, the idea of a gentleman giving him money made Charles cry worse than ever. His tears were like so many magnets. We made three shillings, that first day -- which paid for our room; and when we tried the same dodge the day after, on a different street, we made four.

"Please, sir, please, lady," I said. "I just come upon this poor boy, he's come in from the country this morning and has lost his master. Can you spare a couple of farthings, set him back upon his way? Can you? He's all alone and don't know no-one, don't know Chancery Lane from Woolwich. He has left his coat in his master's cart. -- God bless you, sir! Don't cry, mate! Look, this gentleman is giving you twopence. Here comes some more! And they say Londoners' hearts is hard, in the country -- don't they…?"

The sight of his hands, of his honest face, made me want to weep. I'd think, "Why can't I go to him?" Then, a little later, I'd see Gentleman, and be filled again with fear. Then I'd see Maud. I'd see her at the window. She liked to stand there, with her face against the sash -- as if she knew I was watching, and mocked me! I saw Dainty, helping her dress in the mornings, fastening up her hair. And I saw Mrs Sucksby, at night, letting it down.

That got us our suppers. The money that was left over after that I kept, along with the ticket to Charles's coat, in my shoe. I wore my shoes, even in bed.

"I want my jacket," Charles would say, a hundred times an hour; and every time I'd answer, "Tomorrow. I swear. I promise. Just one more day…"

And then, all day, I would stand at the shutters, my eye at the heart-shaped hole. I was watching the house, figuring out its habits. I was marking it, patient as a cracksman. I saw thieves come, bringing pieces of poke to Mr Ibbs: I saw him turn the lock on his door, pull down his blind.

"They have got them all in their power," I'd say. "Dainty, and Mr Ibbs, and Mrs Sucksby; and I dare say John and even Phil. Like two great spiders, they have spun their web. We've got to be careful, Charles. Oh, haven't we! For say they know, through Dr Christie, that I've escaped? They must know by now! They are waiting, Charles. They are waiting for me. She never leaves the house -- that's clever! -- for, in keeping there, she keeps near Mrs Sucksby. He goes, however. I've seen him. I've been waiting, too. They don't know that. He goes. We'll make our move, next time he does. I'm the fly they want. They shan't get me. We'll send them you. They won't have thought of that! Hey, Charles?"

Charles never answered. I had kept him so long in that dark room, doing nothing, his face had got pale, and his eyes had begun to grow glassy, like a doll's. "I want my jacket," he still said, now and then, in a feeble sort of bleat; but I think he had almost forgotten what it was he wanted it for. For at last there came a time when he said it, and I answered: "All right. Today you'll get it. We've waited long enough. Today's our day"; and instead of looking pleased, he stared and looked frightened.

Once I saw her lift a tress of it to her mouth, and kiss it. With each new thing, I would press my face so hard against the glass I stood at, it would groan in its frame.

And at night, when the house was dark, I would take up my candle and walk, back and forth, back and forth, from one wall to another.

I found us places next to a woman holding a baby. I sat with the coat across my lap. Then I looked at the baby. The woman caught my eye, and I smiled.

Perhaps he thought he saw a certain feverish something in my eye. I don't know. It seemed to me I was thinking like a sharper, for the first time in my life. I took him back to Watling Street and got his jacket out of pawn. But I kept hold of it. Then I took him on a "bus. -- "For a treat," I said. "Look out the window, at the shops."

"Pretty boy," she said. "Isn't he? Won't sleep for his mother, though. I bring him on the "buses and the bumping sends him off. We've been from Fulham to Bow; now we're on our way back."

"He's a peach," I said. I leaned in and stroked his cheek. "Look at them lashes! He'll break hearts, he will."

"Won't he!"

Then I leaned back. When the next stop came, I made Charles get off. The woman said good-bye, and from the window, as the "bus moved away, she waved. But I didn't wave back. For, under cover of Charles's coat, I had had a feel about her waistband; and had prigged her watch. It was a nice little ladies' watch, and just what I needed. I showed it to Charles. He looked at it as though it were a snake that might bite him.

He frowned, then wrote. It looked all right to me. I said, "Now you write this. Write: I was put in the madhouse by that villain your friend -- so called! -- Gentleman --"

"Where did you get that?" he said.

"Don't you know?"

"In a minute."

We were walking on London Bridge. "Shut up," I said, "or I'll throw it over the side. -- That's better. Now, tell me this: can you write?"

"Someone gave it to me."

"Write, Mrs Sucksby," I said.

He would not answer until I had gone to the wall of the bridge and dangled his jacket over; then he began to cry again, but said that he could. "Good boy," I said. I made him walk a little further, until we found a man hawking papers and inks. I bought a plain white sheet, and a pencil; and I took Charles back to our room and had him sit and write out a letter. I stood with my hand on the back of his neck, and watched.

"Give me my coat!"

"I don't believe you. Give me my jacket."

He said, "How do you spell it?"

"You are going too fast," he said, as he wrote. He tilted his head. " By that villain your friend --"

"What word?"

"Before Miss Lilly."

The pencil moved on, then stopped. He blushed. "I won't write that word," he said.

He did. I took the paper from him and wrote, at the bottom, my name.

"That's good. Now this. Put: Mrs Sucksby, I have escaped and am close at hand. Send me a signal by this boy. He is a friend, he is writing this, his name is Charles. Trust him, and believe me -- oh! if this fails, I'll die! -- believe me as ever as good and as faithful as your own daughter -- There you must leave a space."

I pinched his neck. "You write it," I said. "You hear me? Then you write this, nice and big: PIGEON MY ARSE! She is WORSE THAN HIM!"

"-- so called! -- Gentleman; and that bitch Maud Lilly. -- You must make those names stand out."

"Don't look at me!" I said, as I did it; then I kissed where I had written, and folded the paper up. "Here's what you must do next," I said then. Tonight, when Gentleman -- Mr Rivers -- leaves the house, you must go over, and knock, and ask to see Mr Ibbs. Say you've got a thing to sell him. You'll know him straight off: he's tall, and trims his whiskers. He'll ask if you've been followed; and you must be sure, when he does, to say you got away clean. Then he'll ask what brought you to him. Say you know Phil. If he asks how you know him you're to say, "Through a pal named George." If he asks which George you must say, "George Joslin, down Collier's Rents."

"What?"

"That B-word."

He hesitated; then bit his lip and wrote.

He swallowed. "George Joslin, down Collier's Rents," he said.

"George Joslin, down -- Oh, miss! I should rather anything than this!"

"George who, down where?"

"Should you rather the cruel hard men, the unspeakable things, Jamaica?"

"Good boy. Next you hand him the watch. He will give you a price; but whatever price he gives you -- if it be, a hundred pounds, or a thousand -- you must say it ain't enough. Say the watch is a good one, with Geneva works. Say -- I don't know -- say your dad done watches, and you know them. Make him look a bit harder. Any luck, he'll take the back off -- that will give you the chance to look about. Here's who you're looking for: a lady, rather old, with hair of silver -- she'll be sitting in a rocking-chair, perhaps with a baby in her lap. That's Mrs Sucksby, that brought me up. She'll do anything for me. You find a way to reach her side, and pass this letter to her. You do it, Charles, and we're saved. But listen here. If there's a dark-faced, mean-looking boy about, keep clear of him, he's against us. Same goes for a red-headed girl. And if that viper Miss Maud Lilly is anywhere near, you hide your face. Understand me? If she sees you -- more even than the boy -- then we are done for."

"Put your coat on," I said. "It's time."

He swallowed again. He put the note on the bed, and sat and looked fearfully at it. He practised his piece. I stood at the window, and watched, and waited. First came twilight, then came dark; and with the dark came Gentleman, slipping from Mr Ibbs's door with his hat at an angle and that scarlet cloth at his throat. I saw him go; gave it another half-an-hour, to be sure; then looked at Charles.

He grew pale. I gave him his cap and his scarf, and turned up his collar.

He went, and after a moment I saw him cross the street and stand before Mr Ibbs's. He walked like a man on his way to the rope.

"Have you got the letter? Very good. Be brave, now. No funny stuff. I'll be watching, don't forget." He did not speak.

He pulled his scarf a little higher about his face, then he looked round, to where he knew I stood behind the shutter. -- " Don't look round, you fool!" I thought, when he did that. Then he plucked at his scarf again; and then he knocked. I wondered if he might run from the step. He looked as though he would like to. But before he could, the door was opened, by Dainty.

They spoke, and she left him waiting while she went in to Mr Ibbs; then she came back. She glanced up and down the street. Like a fool, he glanced with her, as if to see what she looked for. Then she nodded, and stepped back. He went in, and the door was closed. I imagined her turning the latch with her neat white hand. Then I waited.

What did I suppose would happen? Perhaps, that the door would open, Mrs Sucksby come flying out, with Mr Ibbs behind her; perhaps only that she'd go to her room -- show a light, make a sign -- I don't know.

Say five minutes passed. Say ten.

But the house stayed quiet, and when at last the door did open, there came only Charles again, with Dainty still behind him; and then again, the door was shut. Charles stood, and quivered. I was used by now to his quivers, and think I knew from the look of this one that things were bad. I saw him look up at our window and think about running. -- " Don't you run, you fuckster!" I said, and hit the glass; and perhaps he heard it, for he put down his head and came back across the street and up the stairs. By the time he reached the room his face was crimson, and slick with tears and snot.

"Made you what?" I said. "What happened? What happened, you little tick?"

I got hold of him and shook him. He put his hands before his face.

"God help me, I didn't mean to do it!" he said, bursting in. "God help me, she found me out and made me!"

"Miss Maud! Miss Maud!"

I looked at him in horror. "She saw me," he said, "and she knew me. I did it all, just as you said. I gave the watch, and the tall man took it and opened its back. He thought my scarf was queer, and asked if I'd the toothache. I said I did. He showed me a pair of nippers, that he said were good for drawing teeth. I think he was teasing. The dark boy was there, burning paper. He called me a -- a pigeon. The red-headed girl didn't give me a look. But the lady, your ma, was sleeping; and I tried to reach her side, but Miss Maud saw the letter in my hand. Then she looked at me, and knew me. She said, "Come here, boy, you've hurt your hand," and she got hold of me before the others could see. She had been playing cards at a table, and she held the letter under the table and read it, and she twisted my fingers so hard --"

"She got the letter off me and read it!" he said.

"Who did?"

"She did nothing," he said. "But she gave me this. She took it from the table where she sat. She gave it to me, as if it might be a secret; and then the tall man closed the watch up and she pushed me away. He gave me a pound, and I took it, and the red-headed girl let me out. Miss Maud watched me go, and her eyes were like eyes on fire; but she never said a word. She only gave me this, and I think she must have meant it for you but, oh miss! you can call me a fool, but God help me if I know what it's for!"

"Stop crying!" I said. "Stop crying for once in your life, or I swear, I'll hit you! Tell me now, what did she do?"

He took a breath, and put his hand to his pocket, and brought something out.

His words began to dissolve, like salt in the water of his tears.

"Just this?" I said. Charles nodded.

He handed it over. She had made it very small, and it took me a moment to unfold it and know what it was. When I did, I held it, and turned it, then turned it again; then I stood gazing stupidly at it.

It was a playing card. It was one of the playing cards from her old French deck at Briar. It was the Two of Hearts. It had got greasy, and was marked by the folds she had put in it; but it still had that crease, in the shape of her heel, across one of its painted red pips.

"She's making game of me," I said, my voice not perfectly steady. "She has sent me this -- you're sure there's no message on it, no mark or sign? -- she has sent me this, to tease me. Why else?"

I held it, and remembered sitting with her in her parlour, springing the pack to tell her fortune. She had worn her blue gown. She had put her hand before her mouth. Now you are frightening me! she had said. How she must have laughed about it, later!

"Gin?" We looked at each other.

"What shall we do?" he asked me.

"Miss, I don't know. She took it from the table-top. She took it quick, and there was a -- a wildness, about her eye."

"What sort of a wildness?"

I did not know.

"I must think," I said, beginning to walk about. "I must think what she'll do. She'll tell Gentleman -- won't she? -- and show him our letter. Then he'll move, very quick, to find us. They didn't see you come back here? Someone else might've, though. We can't be sure. We've had luck on our side, so far; now our luck's turning. Oh, if only I'd never taken that woman's wedding-gown! -- I knew it would make a bad fortune. Luck's like the tide: it turns, then gets faster and can't be stopped."

"I can't say. She looked, not like herself. She wore no gloves. Her hair was curled and queer. There was a glass beside her place -- I don't like to say -- I think it had gin in it."

"Don't say it!" cried Charles. He was wringing his hands. "Send the lady her gown back, can't you?"

"You can't cheat luck like that. The best you can do is, try and outface it."

"Outface it?"

I went to the window again, and gazed at the house.

He stood, open mouthed, and did nothing. I got the knife myself, then took him by his wrist and led him from the room, down the slippery staircase.

The street was blowing about with gusts of grit and paper, the night still hot. My head was bare. Anyone who saw me now would know me for Susan Trinder; but it was too late to care. I ran with Charles to Mr Ibbs's door, knocked on it, then left him on the step while I stood aside with my back to the wall. The door was opened after a minute, just an inch.

"Mrs Sucksby is in there now," I said. "Won't one word from me do it? When did I ever let myself be frightened by John Vroom? Dainty I think won't harm me; nor Mr Ibbs. And Maud sounds muddled by gin. Charles, I've been a fool to wait at all. Give me my knife. We are going over."

A man and a girl stood at the bottom, quarrelling; but their voices faded and they turned their heads to watch us as we went by. Perhaps they saw my knife. I had nowhere to hide it.

"Mrs Sucksby!" I cried. I made a charge at the door, and Dainty went flying. I caught Charles's arm and pulled him into the shop. "Mrs Sucksby!" I shouted again. I ran to the hanging baize curtain and knocked it back. The passage beyond was dark, and I stumbled, and Charles stumbled with me. Then I reached the door at the end, and threw it open. There came heat, and smoke, and light, that made me wink. I saw Mr Ibbs first. He had come halfway to the door, hearing all the shouting.

"You've come too late." It was Dainty's voice. "Mr Ibbs says -- Oh! It's you again. What now? Changed your mind?"

The door was opened a little further. Charles stood, and licked his mouth, his eyes on Dainty's. Then he looked at me; and when she saw him do that, she put out her head and also looked. Then she screamed.

When he saw me he stopped, and flung up his hands. Behind him was John Vroom, in his dog-skin coat; behind John Vroom -- I saw her, and could have cried like a girl -- was Mrs Sucksby. At the table, in Mrs Sucksby's great chair, was Maud.

"Mrs Sucksby," I said, turning to her. "They have told you lies. I never -- They had me -- him and her -- locked up! And it has taken me all this time all this time, since May! -- to get back to you."

Beneath the chair was Charley Wag. He had begun to bark at the commotion. Now, seeing me, he barked more wildly and beat his tail, then came and rose up before me to give me his paws. The row was awful.

Mr Ibbs reached forward and seized his collar and quickly jerked it back. He jerked so hard, Charley was almost throttled. I flinched away and lifted my arms. The others all watched me. If they had not seen my knife before, they saw it now. Mrs Sucksby opened her mouth. She said, "Sue, I -- Sue --"

Then Dainty came running in behind me, from Mr Ibbs's shop. "Where is she?" she cried. She had made her hands into fists. She pushed Charles aside, saw me, and stamped. "You've got some cheek, coming back here. You bitch! You have just about broke Mrs Sucksby's heart!"

"Keep off me," I said, waving my knife. She looked at it in astonishment, then fell back. I wished she hadn't; for there was something awful about it. She was only Dainty, after all. The knife began to shake.

"Oh!" I cried, when I felt it. And I struggled away. "She has taken you from me, with jewels! With jewels and lies!"

Mrs Sucksby had her hand at her heart. She looked so surprised and afraid, it might have been her I was pointing the knife at. She looked at Mr Ibbs, and then she looked at Maud. Then she seemed to come to herself. She took two or three nimble steps across the kitchen and put her arms about me, tight.

"Dear girl," she said.

She pressed my face against her bosom. Something hard struck my cheek. It was Maud's diamond brooch.

"Dear girl," said Mrs Sucksby again.

She was dressed like a girl of the Borough, but her face was put back from the light, her eyes in shadow -- she looked handsome and proud. Her hand was trembling, though.

But I looked at Maud. She had not flinched, or started, at sight of me, as the others all had; she had only -- just like Mrs Sucksby -- lifted her hand to her heart.

She swallowed. "You had much better not have come here, Sue," she said. "You had much better have stayed away."

"That's right," I said, when I saw that. "You shake."

"Hey! hey!" said Mr Ibbs. He had taken out a handkerchief and was wiping his brow. He looked at Mrs Sucksby. She still had her arms about me, and I could not see her face. But I felt her grip grow slack as she reached to take the knife from my hands.

"Girl-fight!" cried John, with a clap of his hands.

"You can say so!" I cried. Her voice was clear, and sweet. I remembered hearing it, now, in my dreams at the madhouse. "You can say so, you cheat, you snake, you viper!"

"Dear girl," said Mrs Sucksby again, over her words. "This is so astonishingly queer. This is so -- Only look at you! Like a regular -- ha, ha! -- soldier." She wiped her mouth. "What say you sit down, now, and be nice? What say we send Miss Lilly upstairs, if looking at her upsets you? Eh? And there's John and Dainty: let's ask them, shall we?" -- she jerked her head -- "to slip upstairs, too?"

"Why, he's a sharp one, ain't he?" she said, with a nervous laugh. She put the knife gently on the table. I leaned and snatched it up again.

"Sue, listen to me," said Maud.

"Don't leave it," I said, "where she might get it! Oh, Mrs Sucksby, you don't know what a devil she is!"

She put her fingers to her cheek. "Helped you so far as that, did he?" she said, with her eyes on Charles. She smiled. "Then he's a dear boy; and we shall be sure to pay him out. Shan't we, Mr Ibbs?"

He had taken off his cap, and was biting the band of it. He went to the door, his face so pale, in the shadows, it seemed to glow.

"Charles, stand behind me, by the door to the shop. Keep them from running to it, should they try."

"I said, stay!" I cried.

"Sit down, son," Mr Ibbs said quietly. John sat. I nodded to Charles.

I waved the knife. "You, John Vroom, stay," I said. And then, to Mrs Sucksby and Mr Ibbs: "They'll go for Gentleman! Don't trust them!"

John looked at him and laughed.

"You leave him alone," I said at once. "He has been a friend to me, more ever than you were. Mrs Sucksby, I should never have got back to you, without him. I should never have got free of -- of the madhouse."

"She's lost her mind," said John, rising from his chair. I made a swipe at the sleeve of his coat.

He looked at Mrs Sucksby. She looked at Mr Ibbs.

"Don't let them go!" I cried, as Dainty began to move. "Not her, not them!"

I curled my lip at her. " Gentleman," I said. " Gentleman. You have learned Borough habits very quick."

"You must go, Charles," she said, in her clear, low voice. "You must go from here." She looked at me. The look was strange. "You must both go, before Gentleman comes back."

Mr Ibbs said nothing. Maud leaned from her chair.

The blood rose in her cheek. "I am changed," she murmured. "I am not what I was."

"You are not," I said.

She did not answer.

She lowered her eyes. She looked at her hands. And then, as if seeing that they were bare -- and as if one could cover the bareness of the other -- she put them awkwardly together. There came the faint jingle of metal: she had, upon her wrist, two or three thin silver bangles, of a kind I had used to like to wear. She held them, to make them be still; then lifted her head again and caught my gaze.

"Well?" I said.

I said, in a hard, steady voice: "Was being a lady not enough for you, that you must come to the Borough and take the things that were ours?"

She began to try to draw free the bangles. "Take them," she said. "I don't want them!"

"You think I want them?"

Mrs Sucksby stepped forward, her own hands darting towards Maud's.

"Let them stay!" she cried.

Her voice was hoarse. She looked at me, then gave an awkward sort of laugh.

"Dear girl," she said, moving back, "what's silver, in this house? What's silver, compared with the joy of seeing your face?"

She put one hand to her throat, and leaned with the other upon the back of a chair. She leaned heavily, and the chair-legs grated on the floor.

"Dainty," she said, "fetch me out a tumbler of brandy, will you? This turn of things've quite undone me."

Like Mr Ibbs, she took out a handkerchief and passed it over her face. Dainty gave her her drink, and she sipped it, and sat.

"Come beside me," she said to me. "Put down that old knife, won't you?" And then, when I hesitated: "What, afraid of Miss Lilly? With me and Mr Ibbs -- and your own pal Charles -- to mind you? Come, sit."

I looked again at Maud. I had thought her a viper, but, in the bringing and pouring of the brandy the lamp had got moved about, and I saw in the light of it how slight and pale and tired she was.

I sat, and put the knife before me. Mrs Sucksby took my hand. I said, "I have been done very wrong, Mrs Sucksby."

At Mrs Sucksby's cry, she had fallen still; her hands still shook, however, and she rested her head against the high back of her chair, as if the weight of it hurt her. Her face was damp. A few strands of hair clung to it. Her eyes were darker than they ought to have been, and seemed to glitter.

John whistled. "Double-cross," he said. "Nice work but -- oh!" He laughed. "You pigeon!"

"God knows what lies they've told you! The truth is, she was in it with him from the start. They set me up, between them, to take her place; and they put me in the madhouse, where everyone supposed me to be her --"

Which is what I had known, all along, he would say; though now, it did not seem to matter. Mrs Sucksby looked, not at me, but at our joined hands. She was smoothing her thumb upon mine. I thought the news had stunned her.

"A bad business," she said quietly.

Mrs Sucksby slowly shook her head. "My dear, I begin to see it," she said.

"Did they torture you, with tongs?" asked John. "Did they put you in a straitcoat?"

I hesitated again, then said, "They sewed it to my head."

I hesitated, then glanced at Charles.

"Did they cut it?" said Dainty, sitting, putting a hand before her mouth. Her mouth had a fading bruise beside it -- from John, I suppose. "Did they shave it off?"

"Boots without laces," I said. "They thought that, if they gave me laces, I should hang myself. And my hair --"

"Worse than that!" I cried. "Oh, much, much worse! A madhouse, Mrs Sucksby! With nurses, that hurt and starved me! I was hit one time, so hard --! I was dropped -- I was dropped in a bath --!"

She drew free her hand and raised it before her face. "No more, dear girl! No more. I can't bear to hear it."

"Of iron?"

"They put me in a tartan gown, and boots of --"

"That's all right," I said. "You weren't to know." I turned again to Mrs Sucksby, and touched the skirt of my dress. "This gown I stole," I said. "And these shoes. And I walked, nearly all the way to London. My only thought was to get back here to you. For worse than all the cruel things that were done to me in the madhouse was the thought of the lies that Gentleman must have told you, about where I had gone. I supposed at first, he would have said that I had died."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Sue!" she said. "I swear, I never meant it when I called you a bitch just now!"

"Dear girl, I -- Oh, I should have got you, too, in another month more! -- only, you know, I kept my searching quiet from John and Dainty."

I looked into Mrs Sucksby's face. "But I knew you wouldn't believe it," I said, "of your own daughter."

"Did you, Mrs Sucksby?" said Dainty.

"But I knew you would ask for my body."

She took my hand again. "He might," she said, "have thought of it."

"Then I guessed what he would say. He would say I had cut with the money, and cheated you all."

"My dear, I did. I sent out a man, confidentially." She wiped her lips. She looked at Maud, But Maud had her eyes upon me. I suppose the lamp that lit her face also lit mine, for she said, softly and suddenly, "You look ill, Sue."

"He did," said John. He sucked his tooth. "I always said that you hadn't the nerve."

Her grip on my hand grew tight. "I knew you would look for me, until you found me."

"Wouldn't I! Straight off!"

It was the third time she had spoken my name. I heard it and -- despite myself -- I thought of the other times she had said it, so softly as that, and felt myself colour.

"You do look done up," said Dainty. "You look like you ain't slept in a week."

"I haven't," I said.

"Then why," said Mrs Sucksby, making to rise, "won't you go upstairs now, and put your head down? And then tomorrow, me and Dainty will come and fix you up in one of your old gowns, and dress your hair --"

I took up my knife again, and she drew her hand back. I said, "You think I don't know danger? You think that, in looking at you, I'm not seeing danger with a face -- a false face, with an actress mouth -- with lying blushes, and two brown treacherous eyes?"

Mrs Sucksby shifted in her seat. Maud kept her glittering gaze on mine. "You came to Briar," she said, "to do that…"

The words were like clinker on my tongue: they were awful, but I must spit them out or swallow them and choke. She held my gaze, and her eyes did not seem treacherous, at all. I turned the knife. The blade took up the light of the lamp and sent it darting across her cheek.

"Don't go to sleep here, Sue!" said Maud, leaning from her chair and putting her hand towards me. "There's danger here."

"I came here to kill you," I said.

Then I looked away and let the knife fall. I felt suddenly tired, and sick. I felt all the walking I had done, and all the careful watching. Now nothing was as I had thought it would be. I turned to Mrs Sucksby. "Can you sit," I said, "and hear her tease me? Can you know the wicked trick she played me, and have her here, and not want to throttle her?" I meant it; and yet it sounded like bluster, too. I looked around the room. "Mr Ibbs, can you?" I said. "Dainty, shouldn't you like to shake her to pieces, in my behalf?"

"All right, Dainty," said Mrs Sucksby quickly.

"Shouldn't I!" said Dainty. She showed her fist. "Cheat my best pal, would you?" she said to Maud. "Lock her up in a madhouse and sew up her hair?" Maud said nothing, but slightly turned her head. Dainty shook her fist again, then let it sink. She caught my eye. "Seems an awful shame, though, Sue. Miss Lilly turning out to be such a sport, and all. And brave? I done her ears last week, and she never cried once. And then, she has took to taking stitches out, that natural --"

"You have taken everything that was mine," I said. "You have taken it, and made it better."

I looked again at Maud -- at her neat ear which, I now saw, had a crystal drop falling from it on a wire of gold; and at the curls in her fair hair; and at her dark eye-brows. They had been tweezered into two fine arches. Above her chair -- I had not seen this before, either, but it seemed all of a piece with the drops, the curls and arches, the bangles on her wrist -- above her chair there was hanging, from a beam, a little cage of wicker with a yellow bird in it. I felt tears rise into my throat.

"I took it," she answered, " because it was yours. Because I must!"

"For villainy's sake," she said flatly. "For villainy's sake. Because you were right, before: my face is a false one, my mouth is an actress mouth, my blushes tell lies, my eyes -- My eyes -- " She looked away. Her voice had begun to rise. She made it flat again. "Richard found that, after all, we must wait for our money, longer than we thought."

"Why must you? Why?"

She opened her mouth to speak. Then she looked at Mrs Sucksby and her face changed.

Mrs Sucksby said nothing.

"You haven't got the money?"

But I did not want the money; and when I spoke, my voice sounded hateful to me.

She took up her glass in both her hands, and swallowed what was left in it.

She put the glass back down. "Not yet."

"That's something, then," I said. "I shall want a share of that. I shall want half of it. Mrs Sucksby, do you hear? They shall give me half their fortune, at least. Not a stinking three thousand, but a half. Think what we shall do, with that!"

"Go from here? Because you tell me to? This is my home! Mrs Sucksby -- Mrs Sucksby, will you tell her?"

Maud said, "You shall have what you like. I will give you anything, anything at all -- if you will only go from here, now, before Richard comes back."

Mrs Sucksby again passed a hand across her mouth. "There again, Susie," she said slowly, "Miss Lilly might be right. If there is the money to be thought of, you might do well, for now, to keep out of Gentleman's way. Let me speak with him, first. I'll give him a taste of my temper, though!"

I guessed she was thinking about Maud's fortune, and how it might be cut. I couldn't help but wish that, after all, the money was nothing to her.

She said it in a queer, half-hearted way, with a try at a smile -- as she might have said it, I thought, if she had just found out that Gentleman had swindled her out of two or three shillings at cards.

"Will you make me go," I said again to Mrs Sucksby, "and let her stay?" Now my voice was broken as a boy's. "Will you trust them, not to send Dr Christie to me? Will you -- Will you take her gowns, will you take the pins from her head, will you kiss her, will you let her sleep beside you in my old place, while I lie in a bed with -- with red hairs in it?"

I said, "Will you make me go?" The words came out like a whisper. I looked away from her, about the kitchen -- at the old Dutch clock on the shelf, and the pictures on the walls. On the floor by the door to the stairs was the white china chamber-pot, with the dark eye in it, from my own room, that must have been brought down to be washed and then forgotten. I would not have forgotten it. On the table beneath my hand was a heart: I had scratched it into the wood, the summer before. I had been like a child still, then. I had been like an infant -- I looked about me again. Why were there no babies? The kitchen was still. Everyone was still, and watching me.

"Sleep beside me?" said Mrs Sucksby quickly. "Who told you that?"

But Maud had lifted her head, her gaze grown sharp. "You have watched us!" she said. And then, when she had thought it through: "At the shutter!"

"I've watched you," I answered, more strongly. "I've watched you, you spider! taking everything of mine. You would rather do that -- God damn you! -- than sleep with your own husband!"

"Red hairs?" said John.

"Sleep with -- with Richard?" She looked astounded. "You don't suppose --?"

"Sue," said Maud at the same time, leaning across the table and also reaching for me. "You don't suppose him anything to me? You don't think him a husband to me, in anything but name? Don't you know I hate him? Don't you know I hated him, at Briar?"

I said, "Will you pretend, that you aren't a swindling cheat?"

"Susie," said Mrs Sucksby, putting her hand upon me.

"Will you make out now," I said, in a kind of trembling scorn, "that you only did what you did because he made you?"

"He did make me! -- But, not in the way you mean."

"Anything. Something. I don't know what…"

"There was no other way," she said. "You saw my life. I needed you, to be me."

"Why not? You are an actress. You are acting now!"

"So you might come here, and be me!" She did not answer. I said, "We might have cheated him. If you had told me. We might have --"

Then after a moment I said, more quietly, "I hated it. I didn't smile, with him, when your back was turned."

Her gaze was so dark, yet so steady and true; but I grew aware, all at once, of Mrs Sucksby -- of John and Dainty, Mr Ibbs -- all of them, watching, silent and curious, thinking, What's this…?

She said it, still with her eyes on my face, still with her hand reaching for mine but falling short of taking it. The light was all upon us, the rest of the kitchen almost dark. I looked at her fingers. They were marked with dirt, or bruised. I said, "If you hated him, why did you do it?"

"Am I?"

"What?"

"You think I did?"

She said, "Will you?" And again, she held my gaze; and again, I was almost shamed by it, and looked away.

She shook her head. "How much," she asked quietly, "would you have given up?"

"Don't touch me!" I said, as I did it. I got to my feet. "Don't any of you touch me!" My voice was wild. "Not any of you! Do you hear me? I came back here, thinking this my home; now you want to cast me out again. I hate you all! I wish I had stayed in the country!"

I looked from face to face. Dainty had begun to cry. John sat, open-mouthed and astonished. Mr Ibbs had his hand at his cheek. Maud nursed her bleeding fingers.

And in that moment, I saw into my own cowardly heart and knew that I would have given up nothing for her, nothing at all; and that, sooner than be shamed by her now, I would die. She reached again. Her fingers brushed my wrist. I took up the knife and jabbed at her hand.

Charles shook. Mrs Sucksby said, "Sue, put down the knife. Cast you out? The idea! I --"

Then she stopped. Charley Wag had lifted his head. From Mr Ibbs's shop there came the sound of a key, turning in a lock. Then came the kicking of boots; then whistling.

"Gentleman!" she said. She looked at Maud, at Mr Ibbs, at me. She got up, and leaned to catch at my arm. "Sue," she said, as she did it. She spoke in a voice that was almost a whisper. "Susie, sweetheart, will you come upstairs…?"

"Hallo," he said, "here's Charles." He winked. Then he looked at me, and at my knife. "Hallo, here's Sue." He took off his hat and began to unwind the scarlet cloth from his throat. "I supposed you might come. Had you left it another day, I should have been ready. I have just now collected a letter, from that fool Christie. He certainly dragged his heels, in letting me know of your escape! I think he planned to recapture you before he should have to. Bad publicity, when one's lady lunatics run."

But I did not answer, only gripped the knife more firmly. Charley Wag gave a feeble bark, and Gentleman heard him, and barked in reply. Then he whistled again, a lazy waltz tune, and we heard him stumbling along the passage and watched as he pushed at the door. I think he was drunk. His hat was crooked, his cheek quite pink, his mouth a perfect O. He stood, and slightly swayed, and looked about the room, squinting into the shadows. The whistle died. His lips grew straight, and he licked them.

He put the scarlet cloth inside the hat and let them drop. He took out a cigarette.

"You have found me out a villain."

Gentleman had lit his cigarette, but apart from that had not moved. He turned to look at Charles, who had taken a couple of doubtful steps towards him. He put his hand to Charles's hair. "So, Charley," he said.

"Don't let him leave!" I said. "He'll send for Dr Christie!" I waved my knife. "Charles, stop him!"

"There, there," said Gentleman. He stroked Charles's cheek. Mr Ibbs made a puffing sound with his lips. John got to his feet, then looked about him as if he did not know why he had done it. He blushed.

"Please, sir," said Charles.

"Gentleman!" said Mrs Sucksby. "Listen to me. Sue has told us terrible things. I want you to go."

He folded his arms. "I shall stand if I like."

Charles's lip began to tremble. "Honest to God, Mr Rivers, I never meant to!"

"You're fucking cool," I said. I was shaking. "Here's Mrs Sucksby and Mr Ibbs, know everything."

He laughed. "I should say they do."

"Sit down, John," said Mrs Sucksby.

"Hit me?" His voice was hoarse. "Hit them two, there!" He pointed to Gentleman and Charles. Mrs Sucksby took two quick steps, and struck him. She struck him hard. He put both his arms to his head and gazed at her from between his elbows.

"Sit down, or I'll hit you."

"Is it down to me," he said, "that small boys weep?"

"You old cow!" he said. "You been down on me since the day I was born. You touch me again, you'll know it!" His eyes blazed as he said it; but then, they filled with tears and he began to snivel. He walked to the wall, and kicked it. Charles shuddered and wept harder. Gentleman looked from one to the other, then gazed at Maud in pretend amazement.

"Fuck you, I ain't small!" said John.

"Will you be quiet?" said Maud, in her low, clear voice. "Charles, that's enough."

Charles wiped his nose. "Yes, miss."

"I know you're a filthy swindler," I said. "But I knew that, six months ago. I was a fool, that's all, to trust you."

Gentleman leaned against the post of the door, still smoking. "So, Suky," he said. "You know all now."

"Dear girl," said Mrs Sucksby quickly, with her eyes on Gentleman's face. "Dear girl, the fools were me and Mr Ibbs, to let you."

Gentleman had taken his cigarette from his mouth to blow against its tip. Now, hearing Mrs Sucksby and meeting her gaze, he stood quite still for a second with it held before his lips. Then he looked away and laughed -- a disbelieving sort of laugh -- and shook his head.

I thought she had shamed him.

"All right," she said. "All right." She lifted her hands.

"Mrs Sucksby," he said.

"Circumstances?" I said. "You mean, your having locked me up in a madhouse and left me to die? I should cut your bloody head off!"

He glanced at me. "Tell it to Sue," he said. "She is looking at me with murder in her eyes. Under the circumstances, I don't quite care for that."

"Sweet Christ," he said quietly.

She stood, like a man on a raft -- like she was afraid to make too sharp a move for fear of sinking. "Now, no more wildness. John, no more sulks. Sue, put that knife down, please, I beg you. No-one is to be harmed. Mr Ibbs. Miss Lilly. Dainty. Charles -- Sue's pal, dear boy -- sit down. Gentleman. Gentleman."

He narrowed his eyes, made a face. "Do you know," he said, "you have a very whining tone to your voice at times? Has no-one told you that?"

"No-one to be harmed. All right?"

I made a lunge at him with the knife; but the truth was, I was still bewildered, and sick, and tired, and the lunge was a feeble one. He watched, not flinching, as I stood with the point of the blade before his heart.

Gentleman gazed at Maud, who had bound up her bleeding fingers in a handkerchief. He said, "I should like to have seen it."

Then I grew afraid that the knife would shake and he would see it. I put it down. I put it down on the table -- at the edge of the table, just beyond the circle of light that the lamp threw there.

John nodded. "She wants a half of your fortune."

"Now, ain't that nicer?" said Mrs Sucksby.

"Does she?" said Gentleman, slowly.

John's tears had dried, but his face was dark -- darker on one cheek than on the other, where Mrs Sucksby had hit him. He looked at Gentleman, but nodded to me. "She went for Miss Lilly just now," he said. "Said she'd come to kill her."

"John, shut up," said Mrs Sucksby. "Gentleman, don't mind him. He is only making trouble. Sue said a half, but that was her passion talking. She ain't in her right mind. She ain't -- " She put a hand to her brow, and looked a little queerly about the room -- at me, and at Maud. She pressed her fingers against her eyes. "If I might only," she said, "have a moment, for thinking in!"

"Like you," he answered, hanging his coat on a chair.

"Too sticky," said Mr Ibbs.

"Fuck you," I said. "You fucking villain. You do what Mrs Sucksby says, all right?"

"Don't let him go," said Maud, to Mrs Sucksby.

Mr Ibbs gave a nod. Gentleman said, "You think perhaps I should go, make it simpler?"

Gentleman took off his coat. "Fuck me," he said, as he did it; and he laughed, not nicely. "It's too warm for work like this."

"Are you mad?" I said. "Can't you see, he'll still do anything for his money? Don't let him go! He'll send for Dr Christie."

He snorted. "You poor little bitch."

"Don't you think of going anywhere," said Mrs Sucksby, to Gentleman. He shrugged, his colour rising. "You wanted me to leave, two minutes ago!"

"I have changed my mind." She looked at Mr Ibbs; who looked away.

"You think so?"

"So am I," said Mr Ibbs. He said it quietly. Gentleman caught his eye, and raised a brow.

"Sticky, wouldn't you say, sir?"

"Yes."

"Think away," said Gentleman easily, sourly. "I am longing to know what you will come up with."

"What will?" said John.

"Richard," said Maud. She had got to her feet and was leaning upon the table. She said, "Listen to me. Think of all the filthy deeds you've ever done. This will be the worst, and will gain you nothing."

But Gentleman snorted again. Tell me," he said to Maud, "when you first started learning to be kind. What's it to you, what Sue knows? -- Dear me, how you blush! Not that thing, still? And do you look at Mrs Sucksby? Don't say you care what she thinks! Why, you're as bad as Sue. Look how you quake! Be bolder, Maud. Think of your mother."

She had raised her hand to her heart. Now she jumped as if he had pinched her. He saw it, and laughed again. Then he looked at Mrs Sucksby. She had also given a kind of start at his words; and she stood, with her hand, like Maud's, at her bosom, beneath that diamond brooch. Then she felt him looking, glanced quickly at Maud, and let her hand fall.

Gentleman's laughter died. He stood very still. "What's this?" he said.

"What's what?" said John.

"Now then," said Mrs Sucksby, moving. "Dainty --"

"You see nothing," said Maud, taking a step towards him, but glancing at me. "Richard, you see nothing."

"Oh!" said Gentleman. "Oh!" He watched her as she stepped about the table. Then he looked from her to Maud, in an excited sort of way, his colour rising higher. He put his hand to his hair and tugged it back from his brow.

"Now I see it," he said. He laughed; then the laugh broke off. "Oh, now I see it!"

"Poor you," he said again, still laughing. Then he called: "Mr Ibbs, sir, did you know of this, too?"

He shook his head at her. "What a fool I've been, not to have guessed it sooner! Oh, this is marvellous! How long have you known? No wonder you've kicked and cursed! No wonder you've sulked! No wonder she's let you! I always marvelled at that. Poor Maud!" He laughed, properly. "And, oh, Mrs Sucksby, poor you!"

"That's enough!" said Mrs Sucksby. "You hear me? I won't have it spoke of!"

She also took a step towards him.

Mr Ibbs did not answer.

"Know what?" asked John, his eyes like two dark points. He looked at me.

"Susie," she said, "I want you to go. Take your pal and go."

"I'm not going anywhere," I said.

"Know nothing," said Maud. "Know nothing, nothing!"

"I don't know," I said.

"Know what?"

"Afraid?" he answered. "You? I should say you never knew fear, in all your life. I should say your hard old leathery heart is beating perfectly quietly now, behind your hard old leathery breast."

I saw her put her hand upon the dark edge of the table, as if to guide herself about it. Mrs Sucksby saw it, too, I think. Perhaps she also saw something else. For she started, and then spoke quickly.

"Richard," said Maud, almost pleading.

She was still moving slowly forward, her eyes -- that seemed almost black, now, and glittered worse than ever -- all the time on Gentleman's face.

"No Susie, you stay," said Gentleman, in a rich sort of voice. "Don't mind Mrs Sucksby's wishes. You have minded them too long. What are they to you, after all?"

"Gentleman," said Mrs Sucksby, her eyes still on Maud. "Dear boy. Be silent, will you? I am afraid."

I cannot say for certain what came next. I know that, hearing his words, I took a step towards him, meaning to strike him or make him be silent. I know that Maud and Mrs Sucksby reached him first.

"Feel that?" he said, with a glance at her bosom. "I don't think so." Then he smiled. "You may get your daughter to do it, however. She's had practice."

At his words, Mrs Sucksby's face gave a twitch. She raised a hand to the bodice of her dress. "Feel it!" she said, moving her fingers. "Feel the motion here, then tell me I ain't afraid!"

I do not know if Mrs Sucksby, when she darted, darted at him, or only -- seeing Maud fly -- at her. I know there was the gleam of something bright, the scuffle of shoes, the swish of taffeta and silk, the rushing of someone's breath. I think a chair was scraped or knocked upon the floor.

I know Mr Ibbs called out. "Grace! Grace!" he called: and even in the middle of all the confusion, I thought it a queer thing to call; until I realised it was Mrs Sucksby's first name, that we never heard used.

"Have you hit me?" he said. His voice was strange. Then I looked.

He supposed he had only been punched. I think I supposed it, too. He had his hands at his stomach and was leaning forward, as if nursing the pain of the blow. Maud stood a little before him, but now moved away; and as she did I heard something fall, though whether it fell from her hand, or from his -- or from Mrs Sucksby's -- I cannot tell you.

And so, it was Mr Ibbs I was watching, when it happened. I didn't see it when Gentleman began to stagger. But I heard him groan. It was a soft sort of groan.

Mrs Sucksby was the closer to him. She was certainly the closer. She put her arm about him, and as he sagged she braced herself against his weight, and held him. "Have you hit me?" he said again.

"I don't know," she said.

I don't think anyone knew. His clothes were dark, and Mrs Sucksby's gown was black, and they stood in the shadows, it was hard to see.

But at last he took a hand away from his waistcoat and held it before his face; and then we saw the white of his palm made dark with blood.

"Bring a light!" said Mrs Sucksby. "Bring a light!"

Dainty shrieked.

"My God!" he said then.

John caught up the lamp and held it, shaking. The dark blood turned suddenly crimson. Gentleman's waistcoat and trousers were soaked with it, and Mrs Sucksby's taffeta gown was red and running where she had held him. I had never seen blood run so freely. I had talked, an hour before, of murdering Maud. I had sharpened the knife. I had left the knife upon the table. It was not there now. I had never seen blood run, like this. I grew sick.

Mrs Sucksby gripped Gentleman's arm. "Take your hand away," she said. He still clutched his stomach.

"No," I said."No, no!"

"Take your hand away!"

"I can't."

She wanted to see how deep the wound went. He grimaced, then drew off his fingers. There came, from a gash in his waistcoat, a bubble -- like a bubble of soap, but swirling red -- and then a spurt of blood, that fell and struck the floor with a splash -- an ordinary splash, like water or soup would make. Dainty shrieked again. The light wobbled. " Fuck! Fuck!" said John.

"Set him down in a chair," said Mrs Sucksby. "Fetch a cloth, for the cut. Fetch something to catch this blood. Fetch something, anything --"

They moved him, awkwardly, with grunts and sighs. They sat him on a hardbacked chair. I stood and looked on, while they did it -- held still, I suppose, by horror; though I am ashamed now, that I did nothing.

"Help me," said Gentleman. "Help me. Oh, Christ!"

The sound of the blood striking the china -- and the sight of the red of it, against the white, and against that great dark eye -- was worse than anything.

"Oh, Christ!" he said again. "Oh, Christ, I'm dying!" In between the words, he moaned -- a shuddering, chattering moan, that he could not help or stop. "Oh, Jesus, save me!"

Mr Ibbs plucked a towel from a hook on the wall and Mrs Sucksby knelt at Gentleman's side and held it against the wound. Each time he moved or took his hand from his stomach, the blood spurted. "Fetch a bucket or a pot," she said again; and finally Dainty ran to the door, caught up the chamber-pot that had been left there, and brought it and set it down beside the chair.

Gentleman heard it and grew frightened.

"There now," said Mrs Sucksby, touching his face. "There now. Be brave. I've seen women lose blood like this, from a baby; and live to tell of it."

"Not like this!" he said. "Not like this! I'm cut. How badly am I cut? Oh, Christ! I need a surgeon. Do I?"

"Bring him liquor," said Mrs Sucksby, to Dainty; but he shook his head.

"No liquor. A smoke, though. In my pocket, here." He dipped his chin to his waistcoat, and John fished in the folds and brought out a packet of cigarettes, and another of matches. Half of the cigarettes were soaked with blood, but he found one that was dry, lit it at his own mouth, then put it in Gentleman's.

"How did this happen?" he said.

"Good boy," said Gentleman, coughing. But he winced, and the cigarette fell. John caught it up in trembling fingers and set it back between his lips. He coughed again. More blood oozed up between his hands. Mrs Sucksby took the towel away and wrung it -- wrung it, as if it were filled with water. Gentleman began to shake.

I looked at Maud. She had not moved since stepping from him as he began to fall. She had kept still as me, her eyes upon his face.

"Dear boy, be still," she said, still pressing the towel to the cut. He cried out in pain and fear.

"No surgeons here," he said firmly. "No men like that, to this house."

I think Dainty took a step. Mr Ibbs caught her arm.

John put down the lamp and raised his hand to his eyes. He was weeping and trying to hide it.

"Damn you!" he said. "You bitches! John --"

"John, go for a surgeon! Johnny! I'll pay you! Fuck! " The blood spurted again. Now his face was white, his whiskers black but matted, here and there, with red, his cheek gleaming like lard.

"How can this be?" He looked wildly about him -- at John, at Mr Ibbs, at me. "Why do you stand and watch me? Bring a doctor. Bring a surgeon!"

"No men like that?" cried Gentleman. The cigarette fell. "What are you saying? Look at me! Christ! Don't you know a crooked man? Look at me! I'm dying! Mrs Sucksby, you love me. Bring a man, I beg you."

John shook his head. "I can't! Don't ask me!"

Gentleman turned to me. "Suky!" he said. "Suky, they've killed me --"

"Damn you!" he said softly. He had begun to cry. "Who is there who'll help me? I've money, I swear it. Who is there? Maud?"

"No surgeons," said Mr Ibbs again, when I looked at him. "Bring a man like that, and we're done for."

"Take him to the street," I said. "Can't you? Call a doctor to the street."

"He is cut too bad. Look at him. It would bring them here. There is too much blood."

There was. It now almost filled the china pot. Gentleman's moans had begun to grow fainter.

Her cheek was almost as pale as his, her lip quite white.

She shook her head. Then she said, in a whisper: "I am sorry. I am sorry."

"God damn you! Help me! Oh! " He coughed. There came, in the spittle at his mouth, a thread of crimson; and then, a moment later, a gush of blood. He raised a feeble hand to it -- saw the fresh red upon his fingers -- and his look grew wild. He reached, out of the circle of lamp-light, and began to struggle, as if to raise himself from the chair. He reached for Charles. "Charley?" he said, the blood bubbling and bursting about the word. He clutched at Charles's coat and made to draw him closer. But Charles would not come. He had stood all this time in the shadows, a look of fixed and awful terror on his face. Now he saw the bubbles at Gentleman's lips and whiskers, Gentleman's red and slippery hand gripping the coarse blue collar of his jacket, and he twitched like a hare. He turned and ran. He ran, the way I had brought him -- along the passage to Mr Ibbs's shop. And before we could call to him or go to him to make him stop, we heard him tear open the door then shriek, like a girl, into Lant Street: "Murder! Help! Help! Murder!"

"Maud? Maud?" he said.

At that we all, save Mrs Sucksby and Maud, sprang back. John made for the shop.

"Too late!" said Mr Ibbs. "Too late." He held up his hand. John stood and listened.

There had come a swirl of hot wind from the open shop-door and it carried with it what I thought at first was the echo of Charles's cry; then the sound grew stronger, and I understood it was an answering shout, perhaps from the window of a house nearby. In a second it was joined by another. Then it was joined by this -- the worst sound of all, to us -- the sound of a rattle, rising and falling on the gusting wind; and drawing nearer.

"We might take him," he said to Mrs Sucksby. He looked at me, and then at Maud. "We might take him between us, if we are quick."

"The blues!" said John. He turned, and came to Dainty. "Dainty, run!" he said. She stood for a second, then went -- the back way -- tearing the bolts from their cradles. -- "Go on!" he said, when she looked back. But he did not go with her. Instead, he went to Gentleman's side.

Mrs Sucksby shook her head. Gentleman's own head hung low upon his breast. The blood still bubbled at his lip; burst, and bubbled again.

But he did not go; and I knew -- and know, still -- that I wouldn't have followed, if he had. I was held there, as if by a charm. I looked at Mr Ibbs. He had run to the wall beside his brazier and, as I watched, he drew out one of the bricks. I only found out later that he kept money there, privately, in an old cigarette box. He put the box inside his waistcoat. Then he began to look about him, at the china, the knives and forks, the ornaments on the shelves: he was looking to see what there might be, that he could be done for. He did not look at Gentleman or Mrs Sucksby. He did not look at me -- once he came near me, and thrust me aside, to reach past me for a porcelain cup; and when he had got it he dashed it to the floor. When Charley Wag rose up and gave a strangled sort of bark, he kicked him.

"Do you hear that?" he said weakly.

"Save yourself," she said to John. "Take Sue."

Meanwhile, the sound of shouts and rattles grew close. Gentleman lifted his head. There was blood on his beard, on his cheek, at the corner of his eye.

"What sound is it?"

"You know what follows?"

She put her red hands over his. "The sound of Fortune," she said. She looked at me, and then at Maud. "You might run."

"Dear boy, I do," said Mrs Sucksby. She still knelt at his side.

She nodded. Mrs Sucksby glanced again at me, and then again at Maud, then closed her eyes. She sighed, as if weary.

I said nothing. Maud shook her head. "Not from this," she answered. "Not now."

"You shall not lose me!" I cried; and her eyes flew open, and she held my gaze for a second, as if not understanding. Then she looked at John. He had tilted his head.

"To have lost you once, dear girl," she said. "And now, to lose you again --"

"Here they come!" he said.

Mr Ibbs heard him, and ran; but he got no further than that dark little court at the back of the house before a policeman picked him up and brought him back again; and by then, two more policemen had made their way into the kitchen by the shop. They looked at Gentleman, and at the chamber-pot of blood, and -- what we had not thought to look for or to hide -- at the knife, which had got kicked into the shadows and had blood upon it; and they shook their heads. -- As policemen tend to do when they see things like that, in the Borough.

But Mrs Sucksby rose from Gentleman's side. Her taffeta dress was soaked in his blood, the brooch of diamonds at her bosom turned to a brooch of rubies. Her hands were crimson, from fingertip to wrist. She looked like the picture of a murderess from one of the penny papers.

"This is nasty work, ain't it?" they said. This is very bad. Let's see how bad."

They took hold of Gentleman's hair and drew back his head, and felt for the pulse at his neck; and then they said, "This is filthy murder. Now, who done it?"

"I done it," she said. "Lord knows, I'm sorry for it now; but I done it. And these girls here are innocent girls, and know nothing at all about it; and have harmed no-one."

Maud moved, or took a step. But John moved quicker.

I saw him, and heard him, but could not act. I only said, "What --?" and Maud, I think, also cried out, "What --?" or "Wait --!"

"She done it," he said, without a hesitation. His cheek was darker than ever, where he had been struck before. He lifted his arm and pointed. "She done it. I saw her." He pointed at Mrs Sucksby.