He took an intricate course by winding alleys and narrow side-streets,
keeping his glance well about him until at length he came to a
certain door in a certain dingy street,--and, finding the faulty
latch yield to his hand, entered a narrow, dingy hall and groped his
way up the dingiest stairs in the world.
Now all at once he fancied he heard a stealthy footstep that climbed
on in the darkness before him, and he paused suddenly, but, hearing
nothing, strode on, then stopped again for, plain enough this time,
some one stumbled on the stair above him. So he stood there in the
gloom, very still and very silent, and thus he presently heard
another sound, very soft and faint like the breathing of a sigh. And
all at once Barnabas clenched his teeth and spoke.
"Who is it?" he demanded fiercely, "now, by God--if it's you,
Chichester--" and with the word, he reached out before him in the
dark with merciless, griping hands.
The contact of something warm and soft; a broken, pitiful cry of fear,
and he had a woman in his arms. And, even as he clasped that
yielding form, Barnabas knew instinctively who it was, and
straightway thrilled with a wild joy.
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