With this dire threat, and turning occasionally to bestow another fierce
glance upon the steward, she walked to the door and, opening it to its
full extent, closed it behind her with a crash and darted across the
alley to her own house. The two men gazed at each other without
speaking, and then Mr. Wilks, stepping over to the door, turned the key
in the lock.

"You're not afraid of Teddy?" said the staring Nugent.

"Teddy!" said Mr. Wilks, snapping his huge fingers. "I'm not afraid o'
fifty Teddies; but she might come back with 'im. If it 'adn't ha' been
for you, sir, I don't know wot wouldn't 'ave happened."

"Go and draw some beer and get me a clean pipe," said Nugent, dropping
into a chair. "We've both been mercifully preserved, Sam, and the best
thing we can do is to drink to our noble selves and be more careful for
the future."

Mr. Wilks obeyed, and again thanking him warmly for his invaluable
services sat down to compile a few facts about his newly acquired wife,
warranted to stand the severest cross-examination which might be brought
to bear upon them, a task interspersed with malicious reminiscences of
Mrs. Silk's attacks on his liberty. He also insisted on giving up his
bed to Nugent for the night.

"I suppose," he said later on, as Mr. Nugent, after a faint objection or
two, took his candle--"I suppose this yarn about my being married will
get about?"

"I suppose so," said Nugent, yawning, as he paused with his foot on the
stair. "What about it?"

"Nothing," said Mr. Wilks, in a somewhat dissatisfied voice. "Nothing."

"What about it?" repeated Mr. Nugent, sternly.

"Nothing, sir," said Mr. Wilks, with an insufferable simper. "Nothing,
only it'll make things a little hit slow for me, that's all."

Mr. Nugent eyed him for a space in speechless amazement, and then, with a
few strong remarks on ingratitude and senile vanity, mounted the winding
little stairs and went to bed.

CHAPTER XXV

The day after Mr. Silk's sudden and unexpected assertion of his marital
rights Mr. Kybird stood in the doorway of his shop, basking in the sun.
The High Street was in a state of post-prandial repose, and there was no
likelihood of a customer to interfere with his confidential chat with Mr.
Nathan Smith, who was listening with an aspect of great severity to his
explanations.

"It ought not to 'ave happened," he said, sharply. "It was Teddy done
it," said Mr. Kybird, humbly.

[Illustration: "'It