attic, and must have been difficult to get up the narrow twisting stairs, was incongruous to the setting in which it stood.
But it was an incongruity of which Francis Hammerton was only subconsciously aware, having more urgent interests to engage his mind. He saw a shaving-glass on the wall, and, beneath it, the safety-razor he sought. A minute later, he was back in his own room, not without a feeling of satisfaction in the success of this minor operation of the criminal character which had been thrust upon him. But there was a new doubt now in his mind of whether he should venture upstairs again to return the borrowed article as soon as he had finished its present use, or trust to the chance of a later hour, or the probability that he would have left the house before discovery of that petty pilfering would be made.
Finally, he decided to return it at once, which he did apparently without observation, and went down to the room in which he had had his meals during the previous day, his mind being now made up that he would leave the house as soon as he had eaten the breakfast which his empty pockets could procure in no other place.
To call at his own bank might be hazardous, but it was a risk he could not avoid, and, if it were to be done at all, it could not be tried too soon.
He saw that, in view of the suspicion with which he was regarded by his landlady, and the plan he had overheard, he must walk out in such a way that she would not doubt that he would return. He must either leave his bill permanently unpaid, or incur the risk of a subsequent communication, with the probability that he might be arrested in the meantime, in which case he could not tell what facilities would be permitted him for discharging the debt.
He saw, as he thought of this, and of the lies he had told already, and of the purpose that had taken him to the attic rooms, how hard it may be for one who has been labelled criminal by the law to avoid the character which is placed upon him. Whatever he be at first, he may be forced to the incidence of a life of crime.... His mind returned to more practical considerations as he entered the room, and perceived that breakfast was laid for two.
His step, being audible to Mrs. Benson in her basement room, was sufficient signal to bring her up with a pot of tea, more or less fresh, and a plate of quite decent bacon, which she laid on the table with a remark that Miss Jones ought to have been down before this. She supposed that she must have overslept.
Francis recalled the conversation by which he had secured asylum on the previous afternoon, and recognized that he had not been promised exclusive occupation of the room. It had been assumed by him, rather than said by her, and his position had not been favourable to a critical examination of the nature of the lodging, with partial board, for which Mrs. Benson had quoted. But he saw that if he were expected to take his breakfast (included in the quoted figure), or other meals (which would be extras), under the observation of others who would be able to compare him at close quarters with the descriptions which the morning newspapers would supply, it was an additional reason why his departure should not delay.
With these thoughts at the back of his mind, he answered Mrs. Benson’s remark as casually as it had been made: “Perhaps she won’t be long. I’m afraid I’m rather late myself.”
He glanced at a massive mantelpiece clock, the hands of which pointed to twenty minutes to nine. Her eyes followed his, and she said: “You mustn’t go by that. It’s half an hour slow, if not more.”
She pulled a chair up to the table for him, and he sat down as he replied: “It doesn’t really matter to me. I don’t think the bank opens before ten.”
“I’d better see if Miss Jones is up now,” Mrs. Benson replied, inconsequently, with a note of irritation in her voice. It was an hour at which she expected to have her breakfasts cleared away, and her washing-up done.
He saw that a newspaper lay on the table with an appearance of not having been opened. “I suppose that is Miss Jones’ paper?” he asked, as the woman was about to withdraw. If it were one that was free to the lodgers generally, he would much prefer to have it in his own hands before the lady’s arrival. Probably it would have another of those infernal portraits! But he doubted that Mrs. Benson would make such provision for her guests.
“No, sir. That’s Mr. Rabone’s, but he doesn’t look at it, more mornings than not.”
“And I suppose he’s another one who’s rather late this morning?”
“No, sir. He’s gone before now. He always leaves before this.” She went out as she replied, and he heard her ascending the creaking stairs.
He picked up the paper, but did not turn to the account of his own conviction, or subsequent escape. He had seen enough in the Evening News concerning a matter on which he knew more than he was likely to read. Nor did he need to be informed that the criminal was still “at large,” as it would be certain to state. It would be better that Miss Jones, if she were of an observant disposition, should see him reading the sporting news, or studying the exchanges of the previous day.
Supposing it to be the etiquette of the table that each lodger should settle to his own meal without reference to other comers, he commenced his breakfast, observing, as he did so, that he sat facing a window the side-curtains of which did not exclude the observation of those who passed in the street, though, the room being on a slightly higher level, it might be no more than his head which would be visible to anyone of average height. Suppose that a policeman, strolling along, and occupied only in observation of the potential criminals on his beat— The fact that the rain was descending steadily made such leisurely observation unlikely, but offered another trouble to his harassed mind. He had neither umbrella nor other covering from the weather. He neither desired to be soaked, nor to enter the bank with the appearance of a half-drowned fowl.
It was possible that Mr. Rabone had left a spare overcoat in his room, but there was little doubt as to what Mrs. Benson’s reaction would be if she should meet her new lodger on the stairs with such a garment upon him.... It seemed that it would be necessary to wait for the rain to cease.
He was still considering this problem when Miss Jones entered the room.
CHAPTER SIX
His eyes met those of a girl who was young, slim, dark, and of so self-possessed a manner that he had a moment’s doubt of whether it could be she whose voice he had heard through the attic door.
But when she spoke he recognized it as the same, though it was without any trace of the timidity which he had noticed before.
“Mrs. Benson told me that she had a new guest. I must introduce myself. I am Mary Jones.”
“It is pleasant to have company,” he answered, with more sincerity than he had expected to feel. “I thought I should be alone. My name is—” There was a second’s hesitation as his thought paused for the selection of the right lie, the instinct to give his true name being confused between the two others that he had subsequently assumed; but he did not think it to be observed, her interruption came so quickly: “Oh, yes. Mrs. Benson told me your name.”
Mr. Edwards, as he concluded that he had become to her, having risen to draw out the lady’s chair, which was at the side of the table facing the door, at right angles to his own, sat down again, sensible of the attractions of his breakfast companion, but most conscious of the need for that constant watchfulness which is common to most creatures which live in lasting peril of death should their wits relax, but from which civilized man, and some of his domesticated companions, have become normally free. Beneath this instinct there was another, subconsciously strong, urging him to make any friend he could from among those who had become his collective foes. It led him to lay down the newspaper, though with some reluctance, for he had realized its value in
