But I was not going to shut the door.

‘Have you got a servant here?’ I asked him.

‘She comes in the mornings,’ he replied.

‘Then there is no one in your flat?’

‘Not a shoul,’ said Diaz.  ’Needn’t be ‘fraid.’

I’m not afraid,’ I said.  ‘But I wanted to know.  Which floor is it?’

‘Third.  I’ll light a match.’

Then I pushed to the door, whose automatic latch clicked.  We were fast in the courtyard.

Diaz dropped his matches in attempting to strike one.  The metal box bounced on the tiles.  I bent down and groped with both hands till I found it.  And presently we began painfully to ascend the staircase, Diaz holding his umbrella and the rail, and I striking matches from time to time.  We were on the second landing when I heard the bell ring again, and the banging of the front-door, and then voices at the foot of the staircase.  I trembled lest we should be over-taken, and I would have hurried Diaz on, but he would not be hurried.  Happily, as we were halfway between the second and third story, the man and the girl whose voices I heard stopped at the second.  I caught sight of them momentarily through the banisters.  The man was striking matches as I had been. ‘C’est ici,’ the girl whispered.  She was dressed in blue with a very large hat.  She put a key in the door when they had stopped, and then our matches went out simultaneously.  The door shut, and Diaz and I were alone on the staircase again.  I struck another match; we struggled on.

When I had taken his key from Diaz’ helpless hand, and opened his door and guided him within, and closed the door definitely upon the outer world, I breathed a great sigh.  Every turn of the stair had been a station of the cross for me.  We were now in utter darkness.  The classical effluvium of inebriety mingled with the classical odour of the furnished lodging.  But I cared not.  I had at last successfully hidden his shame.  No one could witness it now but me.  So I was glad.

Neither of us said anything as, still with the aid of matches, I penetrated into the flat.  Silently I peered about until I perceived a pair of candles, which I lighted.  Diaz, with his hat on his head and his umbrella clasped tightly in his hand, fell into a chair.  We glanced at each other.

‘You had better go to bed,’ I suggested.  ’Take your hat off.  You will feel better without it.’

He did not move, and I approached him and gently took his hat.  I then touched the umbrella.

‘No, no, no!’ he cried suddenly; ’I’m always losing this umbrella, and I won’t let it out of my sight.’

‘As you wish,’ I replied coldly.

I was standing by him when he got up with a surprising lurch and put a hand on my shoulder.  He evidently meant to kiss me.  I kept him at arm’s length, feeling a sort of icy anger.

‘Go to bed,’ I repeated fiercely.  ‘It is the only place for you.’