"What do you want me to do?" she asked.
He took down his hat from a peg behind the door.
"It is something I have to show you. We must go to my rooms. They are only just the other side of the Strand."
In absolute silence they walked along together. Joan had but one fear—the fear which had made her grant his request—and that she put resolutely behind her. "God was just," she muttered to herself again and again, and He would not see her cheated of her vengeance. From behind her thick veil she looked at Douglas. He was pale and serious, but there was no look of fear in his face. Then he had always been brave. She remembered that from the old days. He would walk to the scaffold like that. She shuddered, yet without any thought of relenting. On the way he met acquaintances and greeted them. Crossing the Strand he held out his hand to steer her clear of a passing vehicle, but she shrank away with a little gesture of indignation. When at last they reached the street where his rooms were, and stopped in front of the tall, grimy building she addressed him for the first time.
"What place is this? What are you bringing me here for?"
"This is where I live," he answered. "There is something in my rooms which I must show you."
She stood still, moody and inclined to be suspicious.
"Why should I trust you? We are enemies, you and I. There may be evil inside this house for me."
He threw open the door.
"You are quite safe," he said curtly, "and you know it. It is for your good, not mine, that I have brought you here."