“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. He turned his back on that temptation. ‘Assuredly it is locked up. ‘If you had met her, you’d understand. ” The detective turned again to Anna. Anna looked at her, startled. Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at Queenhithe,—whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. I’m that shamed to confess it, miss, but it were then I thought of Martha. He HAD followed her! What had he followed her for? He must have followed her all the way from beyond Grosvenor Square. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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