“Her? Let her go to ——,” said Barnes contemptuously. “She can’t do me any harm. What if she does tell the coppers I’ve been living on her? They won’t worry me unless they’ve nothing better to do, and I’ll have hooked it by then.”
“You’re sure she can’t do you any harm?” Michael asked gravely. “There’s nothing else she could tell the police?”
“Here, what are you talking about?” asked Barnes, coming close to Michael and staring at him fixedly. Michael debated whether he should mention Cissie Cummings, but he lacked the courage either to frighten Barnes with the suggestion of his guilt or to preserve a superior attitude in the face of his enraged innocence.
“I shall come round to-morrow morning, or rather this morning, at nine,” said Michael. “And I shall expect to find you ready to clear out of here for good.”
“You’re very short with a fellow, aren’t you?” said Barnes. “What do you want to go away for? Why don’t you stay so as you can see me off the premises?”
Michael thought that he could observe underneath all the assurance a sharp anxiety on Barnes’ part not to be left alone.
“You can lay down and have a sleep in here. I’ll get on into the bedroom.”
Michael consented to stay, and Barnes was obviously relieved. He put out the gas and retired into the bedroom. The dawn was graying the room, and the sun would be up in less than an hour. Early sparrows were beginning to chirp. The woman who had burst out of the door and fled up the street seemed now a chimera of the night. Half-dozing, Michael lay on the bed, half dozing and faintly oppressed by the odor of patchouli coming from the clothes heaped upon the chairs. St. George was visible already, and even the outlines of The Knight in Armor were tremulously apparent. Michael wondered why he did not feel a greater resentment at the profanation of these rooms. And why did Barnes keep fidgeting on the other side of the folding doors? The sparrows were cheeping more loudly: the trains were more frequent. Michael woke from sleep with a start and saw that Barnes was throwing the clothes from the chairs on the floor: stirred up thus in this clear light the scent of patchouli was even more noticeable. What on earth was Barnes doing? He was turning the whole room upside-down.
“What the deuce are you looking for?” Michael yawned.
“That’s all right, old man, you get on with your sleep. I’m just putting my things together,” Barnes told him.