Bastien's door he listened for a second, hearing low voices, and a sob with a little laugh behind it. The young trollop, he thought, going from one man's room to another's with her laughing and her crying. She didn't know how to take care of herself. He'd teach her. Give her a lesson she wouldn't forget. Give that cursed Bastien a lesson. Bastien most of all. He'd make him suffer. . . .
He went through the narrow back passage and tapped at Mrs. Jessop's door. Her peaceful snores continued without a break. He tapped again sharply and this time she was out of bed in an instant and at the door.
"Who's that?" she whispered.
His eyebrows went up at her sudden alertness. Used to callers, the sly old vixen.
"Step out here, a bit," he said. "Put a wrapper on. I want to show you something. . . . It's Duncan Kirke speaking."
"I hope there's no nonsense going on, Mr. Kirke. My gracious, what a storm!"
"Come along, Mrs. Jessop. You'll regret it if you don't."
"What time is it?"
"Time all of us were in our own beds. Are you dressing?"
She came out, dressed in a plaid wrapper, her grey hair in crimping pins, her large grey eyes aggressively staring.
"I hope this is worth getting up for," she said sharply.
Kirke gave a low bark.
"Weel, that depends."
"Where's the trouble?"
"Just follow me, Mrs. Jessop."
Outside Bastien's door he stopped. With his
