was getting on for two o'clock,
and without the lights of vehicles the night was more than ever
brilliant. Under the plane-trees Michael was stabbed with one pang for
Lily, and he repined at the waste of this warm June.

The clocks had struck two when he reached Leppard Street, and the houses
confronted him, their roofs and chimneys prinked with stars. Several
windows glimmered with a turbid orange light; but these signals of
habitation only emphasized the unconsciousness of the sleepers behind,
and made the desolation of the rest more positive. The windows of his
old rooms were black, and Michael unlocked the front door quietly and
stood listening for a moment in the passage. He could hear a low
snarling in the bedroom, but from where he was standing not a word was
distinct, and he could not bring himself to point of listening close to
the keyhole. He shut the front door and waited in the blackness,
fascinated by the rise and fall of the low snarl that was seeming so
sinister in this house. It was incredible that a brief movement would
open the front door again and let in the starlight; for, as he stood
here, Leppard Street was under the earth deep down. He moved a little
farther into the hall, and, putting out his hand to feel for the
balusters, drew back with a start, for he might have clapped it down
upon a cold bald head, so much like that was the newel's wooden knob.
Still the snarling rose and fell: the darkness grew thicker and every
instant more atramental, beating upon him from the steeps of the house
like the filthy wings of a great bat: and still the snarling rose and
fell. It rose and fell like the bubbling of a kettle, and then without
warning the kettle overflowed with spit and hiss and commotion. Every
word spoken by Barnes and the woman was now audible.

"I say he gave you thirty shillings. Now then!" Barnes yapped.

"And I tell you he only gave me a sovereign, which you've had."

"Don't I hear through the door what you get?"

Michael knew why Barnes had not been able to keep his appointment
to-night, and though he was outraged at the use to which his rooms had
been put, he was glad to be relieved of the fear that this snarling was
the prelude to the revelation of Barnes as a murderer. The
recriminations with their details of vileness were not worth hearing
longer, and Michael went quickly and quietly out into the Summer night,
which smelled so sweet after that passage.

He turned round by the la