der fluttering rows of linen
hanging out on lines to dry. A pack of dirty cards, and some plain
needlework, littered the bare little table. A cheap American clock
ticked with stern and steady activity on the mantelpiece. The smell of
onions was in the air. A torn newspaper, with stains of beer on it,
lay on the floor. There was some sinister influence in the place which
affected Mr. Ronald painfully. He felt himself trembling, and sat down
on one of the rickety chairs. The minutes followed one another wearily.
He heard a trampling of feet in the room above--then a door opened and
closed--then the rustle of a woman's dress on the stairs. In a
moment more, the handle of the parlour door was turned. He rose, in
anticipation of Mrs. Turner's appearance. The door opened. He found
himself face to face with his wife.

VI

John Farnaby, posted at the garden paling, suddenly lifted his head and
looked towards the open window of the back parlour. He reflected for a
moment--and then joined his female companion on the road in front of the
house.

"I want you at the back garden," he said. "Come along!"

"How much longer am I to be kept kicking my heels in this wretched
hole?" the woman asked sulkily.

"As much longer as I please--if you want to go back to London with the
other half of the money." He showed it to her as he spoke. She followed
him without another word.

Arrived at the paling, Farnaby pointed to the window, and to the back
garden door, which was left ajar. "Speak softly," he whispered. "Do you
hear voices in the house?"

"I don't hear what they're talking about, if that's what you mean."

"I don't hear, either. Now mind what I tell you--I have reasons of
my own for getting a little nearer to that window. Sit down under the
paling, so that you can't be seen from the house. If you hear a row, you
may take it for granted that I am found out. In that case, go back to
London by the next train, and meet me at the terminus at two o'clock
tomorrow afternoon. If nothing happens, wait where you are till you hear
from me or see me again."

He laid his hand on the low paling, and vaulted over it. The linen
hanging up in the garden to dry offered him a means of concealment
(if any one happened to look out of the window) of which he skilfully
availed himself. The dust-bin was at the side of the house, situated
at a right angle to the parlour window. He was safe behind the bin,
provided no one appeared on the path which c