CHAPTER II
AT NO. 8, BELITHA VILLAS
It was nine o'clock when Edward Povey pushed open the little iron gate of No. 8, Belitha Villas, Clapham, thereby announcing his return to the other eleven villas in the same row. For the twelve little iron gates of Belitha Villas had each its own peculiar squeak and clang, a fact that added considerably to the scandal-mongering of the little community, and had caused a certain old reprobate at No. 3 to make liberal use of the oil-can.
The master of No. 8 let himself in with his latch-key, and groping his way down the dark and narrow passage pushed open the dining-room door. The room was in darkness save for a little evil-smelling oil-lamp which shed a dismal radiance upon a cloth spread half across the table. An unsympathetic slab of red topside of beef glared aggressively from a dish in which the gravy had set to an unhealthy-looking fat-ringed jelly. This, flanked by the remains of a cottage loaf and a glass of ale, constituted the meal that Charlotte had left for the refreshment of her lord and master. The ale had long been drawn, and stood dead and listless, showing a surface destitute of foam. Edward took one sip, then sat down and lit a cigarette.
His gaze wandered round the little room, the corners of which were in a dingy shadow, and contrasted it in his mind with the grill-room of the Blue Dragon. And then his eye lighted upon a letter propped up against the brass lamp and put there evidently so that it should attract his early attention. He took it up and read it through, then with a few uncomplimentary remarks he thrust it into his pocket and, taking up the lamp, made his way up-stairs. Another moment and he was back again, holding the lamp above his head and searching the dim corners of the room.
A large unwieldy form that had been stretched upon a sofa in the shadow of the window recess roused itself and sat upright. It was clad in a shabby dressing-gown of some dark material and it had a stern eye.
"You're late, Edward."
"Yes, my dear, I am a little, I think. I thought you were up-stairs or had run along to have a chat with Mrs. Oakley. I didn't see you in the shadow there."
"I saw you, Edward, and I saw you read the letter, and I—I heard what you called uncle, and I am not in the habit of running along and having a chat with my neighbours in the middle of the night."
"Well, my dear woman, I didn't know you were there when I read his letter or I wouldn't have said it,—and it's only nine o'clock."