Night was falling as, turning out of St. James's Square, Barnabas
took his way along Charles Street and so, by way of the Strand,
towards Blackfriars. He wore a long, befrogged surtout buttoned up
to the chin, though the weather was warm, and his hat was drawn low
over his brows; also in place of his tasselled walking-cane he
carried a heavy stick.
For the first half mile or so he kept his eyes well about him, but,
little by little, became plunged in frowning thought, and so walked
on, lost in gloomy abstraction. Thus, as he crossed Blackfriars
Bridge he was quite unaware of one who followed him step by step,
though upon the other side of the way; a gliding, furtive figure, and
one who also went with coat buttoned high and face hidden beneath
shadowy hat-brim.
On strode Barnabas, all unconscious, with his mind ever busied with
thoughts of Cleone and the sudden, unaccustomed doubt in himself and
his future that had come upon him.
Presently he turned off to the right along a dirty street of squalid,
tumble-down houses; a narrow, ill-lighted street which, though
comparatively quiet by day, now hummed with a dense and seething life.
Yes, a dark street this, with here and there a flickering lamp, that
served but to make the darkness visible, and here and there the
lighted window of some gin-shop, or drinking-cellar, whence
proceeded a mingled clamor of voices roaring the stave of some song,
or raised in fierce disputation.
On he went, past shambling figures indistinct in the dusk; past
figures that slunk furtively aside, or crouched to watch him from
the gloom of some doorway; past ragged creatures that stared,
haggard-eyed; past faces sad and faces evil that flitted by him in
the dark, or turned to scowl over hunching shoulders. Therefore
Barnabas gripped his stick the tighter as he strode along, suddenly
conscious of the stir and unseen movement in the fetid air about him,
of the murmur of voices, the desolate wailing of children, the noise
of drunken altercation, and all the sordid sounds that were part and
parcel of the place. Of all this Barnabas was heedful, but he was
wholly unaware of the figure that dogged him from behind, following
him step by step, patient and persistent. Thus, at last, Barnabas
reached a certain narrow alley, beyond which was the River, dark,
mysterious, and full of sighs and murmurs. And, being come to the
door of Nick the Cobbler, he knocked upon it with his stick.
It was opened, almost immediately, by Clemency herself.
"I saw you coming," she said, giving him her hand, and so led him
through the dark little shop, into the inner room.
"I came as soon as I could. Clemency."
"Yes, I knew you would come," she answered, with bowed head.