winding stone staircase, and Sidney gave a hollow-sounding knock at one of the two doors that faced each other on the fifth storey. Mrs. Eagles opened, a decent motherly woman, with a pleasant and rather curious smile on her face. She led the way into one of the rooms which John had seen empty only a few hours ago. How was this? Oil-cloth on the floor, a blind at the window, a bedstead, a table, a chest of drawers.
Mrs. Eagles withdrew, discreetly. Hewett stood with a look of uneasy wonderment, and at length turned to his companion.
“Now, look here,” he growled, in an unsteady voice, “what’s all this about?”
“Somebody seems to have got here before you,” replied Sidney, smiling.
“How the devil am I to keep any self-respect if you go on treatin’ me in this fashion?” blustered John, hanging his head.
“It isn’t my doing, Mr. Hewett.”
“Whose, then?”
“A friend’s. Don’t make a fuss. You shall know the person some day.”
