Part 5 (1/2)
The barmaid nodded and turned away. The girl made him drink and then roused him.
”Can you walk?” she said shortly. ”We're best away from here.”
He nodded.
”Yes.”
She rose and paid for the last drinks. He followed her out on to the pavement and stood there, dazed, almost helpless. She looked at him critically.
”Come, pull yourself together,” she said. ”You've had a bit of a knock, I guess, but you don't want to advertise yourself here. Now listen.
You'd best get some quiet lodging and lie low for a bit. I don't know anything and I don't want to know anything, but it's pretty clear you're keeping out of the way. I'm not going to take you down my way. For one thing, you ain't exactly that sort, I should say, and for another, the coppers are on to us like hot bricks when any one's wanted. Do you know London at all?”
”I was never here before this evening,” he answered, in a low tone.
She looked at him critically.
”You're a bit of a green 'un,” she said, bluntly. ”You don't need to go giving yourself away like that, you know. Come along. I'm going to take you out to a quiet part that'll do for you as well as anywhere.”
He walked by her side pa.s.sively. Once he stopped and bought an evening paper, and under the next gas lamp he read a certain paragraph through carefully. She waited for him without remark. He folded the paper up after a minute or two and rejoined her. Side by side they threaded their way along Pall Mall, across the Park and southwards. A walk which, an hour or two ago, would have filled him with wonder and delight, he undertook now with purely mechanical movements and unseeing eyes. When they reached Chelsea she paused.
”Look here,” she said, ”are you feeling all right now?”
He nodded.
”I am quite myself again,” he said, steadily. ”I am much obliged to you for looking after me. You are very kind.”
He drew some gold pieces hesitatingly from his pocket. She motioned him to replace them.
”I don't want any money, thanks,” she said. ”Now listen. That street there is all lodging-houses. Go and get a room and lie quiet for a bit.
They're used to odd folk down here, and you look like a painter or a writer. Say you're an actor out of a job, or anything that comes handy.”
”Thank you,” he said. ”I understand.”
She turned away.
”Good night, then.”
”Good night.”
He heard something that sounded like a sob, and the quick rustling of skirts. He turned round. She was by the corner--out of sight already.
At the bottom of the street was the glitter of a gas lamp reflected from the walk. He walked down and found himself on Chelsea Embankment. He made his way to the wall with the gold which she had refused still in his hand, and without hesitation threw the coins far out into the river.
Then he looked around. There was not a soul in sight. He drew a handful of money from his pocket and flung it away--a little shower of gold flas.h.i.+ng brightly in the gaslight for a moment. He went through his pockets carefully and found an odd half sovereign and some silver.
Away they went. Then he moved back to a seat and closed his eyes.
CHAPTER VII
A NIGHT IN h.e.l.l--AND NEXT DAY
There are few men, Douglas had once read, who have not spent one night of their lives in h.e.l.l. When morning came he knew that he at least was amongst the majority. Sleep had never once touched his eyelids--his most blessed respite had been a few moments of deadly stupor, when the red fires had ceased to play before his eyes, and the old man's upturned face had faded away into the chill mists. Yet when at last he rose he asked himself, with a sudden pa.s.sionate eagerness, whether after all it might not have been a terrible dream. He gazed around eagerly looking for a latticed window with dimity curtains, a blue papered wall hung with texts, and a low beamed ceiling. Alas! Before him was a white-shrouded river, around him a wilderness of houses, and a long row of faintly-burning lights stretched from where he sat all along the curving embankment. He was wearing unfamiliar clothes, and a doubled-up newspaper was in his pockets. It was all true then, the flight across the moor, the strange ride to town, the wild exhilaration of spirits, and the dull, crus.h.i.+ng blow. The girl with the roses--ah, she had been with him--had brought him here. He remembered the look in her eyes when she had refused his money. At least he had ridded himself of that. He tried to stretch himself. He was stiff and sore all over. His head was throbbing like a steam engine, and he sank back upon the seat in the throes of a cold, ghastly sickness. He remembered then that he had not touched food for hours. He remembered too that he had not a penny in the world.