weapon it had
given him he would return to tobacco and paper, the materials of his
existence.

He saw her name in the papers, her photograph here and there. Oh,
well, she belonged to that world. No doubt she would amuse herself
with theatrical success before she fell back upon the title and wealth
which were laid at her feet.

However, convinced though he was of his renunciation, he could not stay
away from the bookshop and went there almost every day in the hope of
meeting her.

One evening as he returned home he met Verschoyle on the doorstep of
his house, and could not refrain from speaking to him.

'Excuse me,' he said, 'I have seen you sometimes in the bookshop in
Charing Cross Road.'

'Indeed?' replied Verschoyle, who was looking anxious and worried.

'Yes. I have seen you there with Miss Day.'

Verschoyle was alert and suspicious at once. He scanned this strange
individual but was rather puzzled.

'Do you live here?' he asked.

'On the top floor,' replied Rodd, 'on the top floor--alone--I thought
you might have been to see me.'

'No, no. I don't know you.'

'My name is Rodd.'

That conveyed nothing to Verschoyle.

'I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Day at the bookshop. I thought she
might have mentioned it.'

'No.... I have been to see a Miss Messenger on the third floor. Do
you know her?'

'Slightly.'

'You know nothing about her?'

'Nothing, except that she had a child that died.... I'm afraid I
didn't even know her name. I don't bother myself much about my
neighbours.'

'Thank you,' said Verschoyle. 'Good-night.'

Rodd let himself in, his curiosity working furiously at this strange
combination of persons. What on earth could be the link between
Verschoyle and the shabby, disreputable menage on the third floor?...
His heart answered ominously: 'Clara.'

He walked slowly up the dark, uncarpeted stairs, and, as he was at the
bend below the third floor, he heard a shrill scream--a horrid scream,
full of terror, loathing, contempt. He rushed up to the door of the
third floor flat and found it open, stood for a moment, and heard a
man's voice saying,--

'You shall, you sly cat. Give it me and you shall do as I tell you.'

'No, no, no!' screamed the woman. 'Mother!'

And another woman's voice, cruel, and harsh, said,--

'Do as he tells you, and don't be a fool!'

There was a scuffle, a fall, a man's heavy breathing, a gurgling sound
of terror and suffocation. Rodd