ked him about Cissie."

"But if there were any suspicion of him," Michael pointed out, "the
police would have tackled him long ago."

"Oh, they aren't half artful, the police aren't," said Daisy. "Nothing
they'd like better than get waiting about and seeing if he didn't go and
murder another poor girl, so as they could have him for the two, and be
all the more pleased about it."

"That's talking nonsense," Michael protested. "The police don't do that
sort of thing."

"I don't know," Daisy argued. "One or two poor girls more or less
wouldn't worry them. After all, that's what we're for--to get pinched
when they've got nothing better to do. Of course, I know it's part of
the game, but there it is. If you steal my purse and I follow you round
and tell a copper, what would he do? Why, pinch me for soliciting. No,
my motto is, 'Keep out of the way of the police.' And if you take my
advice, you'll do the same. If this fellow didn't do the girl in," Daisy
asked earnestly, leaning forward over the table, "why doesn't he come
down here and keep his appointment with you to-night? Don't you worry.
He knows the word has gone round, and he's going to lie very low for a
bit. I wouldn't say the tecs aren't watching out for him even now."

"My dear Daisy, you're getting absolutely fanciful," Michael declared.

"Oh, well, good luck to fanciful," said Daisy, draining her glass.
"Here, why don't you come home with me to-night?"

"What, and spend another three hours hiding in a cupboard?"

"No, properly, I mean, this time. Only we should have to go to a hotel,
because the woman I'm living with's got her son come home from being a
soldier and she wouldn't like for him to know anything. Well, it's
better not. You're much more comfortable when you aren't in gay rooms,
because they haven't got a hold over you. Are you coming?"

For a moment Michael was inclined to invite Daisy to go away with him.
For a moment it seemed desirable to bury himself in a corner of the
underworld: to pass his life there for as long as he could stand it. He
could easily make this girl fond of him, and he might be happy with her.
No doubt, it would be ultimately a degrading happiness, but yet not much
more degrading than the prosperity of many of his friends. He had always
escaped so far and hidden himself successfully. Why not again more
completely? What, after all, did he know of this underworld without
having lived of it as well as in it? Hitherto he had