y in
her husband and her children....

* * * * *

He turned in at one of the chemist's shops. One or two gaudily-dressed,
haggard women were at the distant end of the counter, in conference with
an assistant. Saxham spoke to the chemist, a grey-whiskered, fatherly
individual, who listened, bending his sleek bald head. The chemist bowed,
but as he had not the honour of knowing his customer, would the gentleman
oblige by signing the poison-book, in compliance with Schedule F of the
Pharmacy Act, 1868?

Saxham nodded. The chemist produced the register, and opened it on the
counter before Saxham, and supplied him with pen and ink. Then he found
that he had business at the other end of the shop, and when he returned he
smartly closed the book, without even satisfying himself whether the
client had written down his name and address, or merely pretended to. Then
he filled a two-ounce vial with the fragrant, deadly acid, and put on a
yellow label that named the poison, but not the vendor, and stoppered and
capsuled, and sealed, and made it into a neat little parcel, and Saxham
paid, and put the parcel in his inner breast-pocket, and turned to leave
the shop.

It was crowded now; the roaring business of the little hours was in full
swing. The three assistants ran about like busy ants; the chemist joined
his merry men at the game of making money, serving alcoholic liquors,
mixing pick-me-ups, dispensing little bottles of tabloids and little boxes
of jujubes, taking cash and giving change.

The crush was terrific. Saxham, his hat pulled low over his broad brows,
his great chest stemming the tide of humanity that incessantly rolled over
the threshold, was slowly making his way to the door, when he felt the
arresting touch of a hand upon his arm.

The owner of the hand belonged, as ninety per cent. of the women in the
place belonged, to Francois Villon's liberal sisterhood. Something in the
pale square face and massive shoulders had attracted her vagrant fancy.
She had quitted her companions--two gaily-dressed, be-rouged women and a
blue-eyed, yellow-haired, moustached young German, whose stripy tweeds,
vociferously-patterned linen, necktie of too obvious pattern, and
high-crowned bowler hat, advertised the Berlin tailor and haberdasher and
hatter at their customer's expense, as Saxham went by. Now she looked up
into the strange, sorrowful eyes that were shaded by his tilted hat-brim,
and twined