ter, and strengthened herself in the thought of what she would
say, under such circumstances on Bob's behalf. 'He's been a good
'usband,' she kept repeating to Mrs. Griffin, and to the other
neighbours who crowded to indulge their curiosity. 'There's nobody can
say as he ain't been a good 'usband; it's a lie if they do.'

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 watch was kept in rain. She
dreaded the thought of passing another night in uncertainty. Long ago
her tears had dried up; she had a parched throat and trembling,
feverish hands. Between seven and eight o'clock she went to Mrs.
Griffin and begged her to take care of the child for a little while.

'I'm goin' to see if I can hear anything about him. Somebody may know
where he is.'

And first of all she directed her steps to Shooter's Gardens. It was
very unlikely that her mother could be of any use, but she would seek
there. Afterwards she must go to Farringdon Road Buildings, though
never yet had she presented herself to Bob's father.

You remember that the Gardens had an offshoot, which was known simply
as The Court. In this blind alley there stood throughout the day a row
of baked-potato ovens, ten or a dozen of them, chained together, the
property of a local capitalist who let them severally to men engaged in
this business. At seven o'clock of an evening fires were wont to be
lighted under each of these baking-machines, preparatory to their being
whe