By eight o’clock she was at the police-station. With fear she entered the ugly doorway and approached a policeman who stood in the ante-room. When she had made her inquiry, the man referred her to the inspector. She was asked many questions, but to her own received no definite reply; she had better look in again the next morning.
“It’s my belief they ain’t got him,” said Mrs. Griffin. “He’s had a warnin’ from his pals.”
Pennyloaf would dearly have liked to communicate with Jane Snowdon, but shame prevented her. All day she stood by the house-door, looking eagerly now this way, now that, with an unreasoning hope that Bob might show himself. She tried to believe that he was only keeping away because of his behaviour to her the night before; it was the first time he had laid hand upon her, and he felt ashamed of himself. He would come back, and this charge against him would be proved false; Pennyloaf could not distinguish between her desire that something might happen and the probability of its doing so.
But darkness fell upon the streets, and her
