The girl looked him sullenly up and down, then she led the way into the black chasm and up the stairs.  They were so shaky as to make Calton fear they might give way.  As they toiled slowly up the broken steps he held tightly to his companion’s arm.  At last they stopped at a door through the cracks of which a faint glimmer of light was to be seen.  Here the girl gave a shrill whistle, and the door opened.  Still preceded by their elfish guide, Calton and the detective stepped through the doorway.  A curious scene was before them.  A small square room, with a low roof, from which the paper mildewed and torn hung in shreds; on the left hand, at the far end, was a kind of low stretcher, upon which a woman, almost naked, lay, amid a heap of greasy clothes.  She appeared to be ill, for she kept tossing her head from side to side restlessly, and every now and then sang snatches of song in a cracked voice.  In the centre of the room was a rough deal table, upon which stood a guttering tallow candle, which but faintly illuminated the scene, and a half empty rectangular bottle of Schnapps, with a broken cup beside it.  In front of these signs of festivity sat an old woman with a pack of cards spread out before her, and from which she had evidently been telling the fortune of a villainous-looking young man who had opened the door, and who stood looking at the detective with no very friendly expression of countenance.  He wore a greasy brown velvet coat, much patched, and a black wide-awake hat, pulled down over his eyes.  From his expression—­so scowling and vindictive was it—­the barrister judged his ultimate destiny to lie between Pentridge and the gallows.

As they entered, the fortune-teller raised her head, and, shading her eyes with one skinny hand, looked curiously at the new comers.  Calton thought he had never seen such a repulsive-looking old crone; and, in truth, her ugliness was, in its very grotesqueness well worthy the pencil of a Dore.  Her face was seamed and lined with innumerable wrinkles, clearly defined by the dirt which was in them; bushy grey eyebrows, drawn frowningly over two piercing black eyes, whose light was undimmed by age; a hook nose, like the beak of a bird of prey, and a thin-lipped mouth devoid of teeth.  Her hair was very luxurious and almost white, and was tied up in a great bunch by a greasy bit of black ribbon.  As to her chin, Calton, when he saw it wagging to and fro, involuntarily quoted Macbeth’s lines—­

“Ye should be women,
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That ye are so.”

She was no bad representative of the weird sisters.

As they entered she eyed them viciously, demanding,

“What the blazes they wanted.”

“Want your booze,” cried the child, with an elfish laugh, as she shook back her tangled hair.

“Get out, you whelp,” croaked the old hag, shaking one skinny fist at her, “or I’ll tear yer ’eart out.”

“Yes, she can go.” said Kilsip, nodding to the girl, “and you can clear, too,” he added, sharply, turning to the young man, who stood still holding the door open.