‘For all I know.’

And the door closed sharply.  He had no choice but to wait and see if either of his acquaintances returned.  For a few minutes he sat on the staircase, but as at any moment some one might stumble over him, he went down to the backdoor, which was open, like that in front, and passed out into the stone-paved yard.  Here he seated himself on the ground, leaning against a corner of the wall, He was suffering much from his injury, but could at all events feel secure from the hunters.

The stones were wet, and rain fell upon him.  As he looked up at the lighted windows in the back of the house, he thought of Pennyloaf, who by this time most likely knew his danger.  Would she be glad of it, feeling herself revenged?  His experience of her did not encourage him to believe that.  To all his ill-treatment she had never answered with anything but tears and submission.  He found himself wishing she were near, to be helpful to him in his suffering.

Clem could not learn immediately what had come to pass.  Finding he did not keep his appointment for the day after to-morrow, she would conclude that he had drawn back.  But perhaps Jack Bartley’s case would be in the newspapers on that day, and his own name might appear in the evidence before the magistrates; if Clem learnt the truth in that way, she would be not a little surprised.  He had never hinted to her the means by which he had been obtaining money.

Voices began to sound from the passage within the house; several young fellows, one or other of whom probably lived here, had entered to be out of the rain.  One voice, very loud and brutal, Bob quickly recognised; it was that of Ned Higgs, the ruffian with whom Bartley’s wife had taken up.  The conversation was very easy to overhear; it contained no reference to the ‘copping’ of Jack.

‘Fag ends!’ this and that voice kept crying.

Bob understood.  One of the noble company had been fortunate enough to pig up the end of a cigar somewhere, and it was the rule among them that he who called out ‘Fag ends!’ established a claim for a few whiffs.  In this way the delicacy was passing from mouth to mouth.  That the game should end in quarrel was quite in order, and sure enough, before very long, Ned Higgs was roaring his defiances to a companion who had seized the bit of tobacco unjustly.

’I ‘ollered fag-end after Snuffy Bill!’

‘You’re a ——­ liar!  I did!’

‘You!  You’re a ——!  I’ll—­your—­in arf a ——­ second!’

Then came the sound of a scuffle, the thud of blows, the wild-beast bellowing of infuriate voices.  Above all could be heard the roar of Ned Higgs.  A rush, and it was plain that the combatants had gone out into the alley to have more room.  For a quarter of an hour the yells from their drink-sodden throats echoed among the buildings.  Quietness was probably caused by the interference of police; knowing that, Bob shrank together in his lurking-place.