“It is an annoyance, my friend,” she said, “not a tragedy. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. ’ Thus adjured, but mindful of Trodger’s orders, the militiaman went down the hall backwards, his eyes fixed on the prisoner. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room.
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