How it came about they neither of them knew, but it was Claire’s seeking; she was suffering so from that heart hunger—that painful searching for the love and sympathy of some woman of her age, while Cora Dean’s handsome face was so near to her, and she kissed her as one sister might another.
“Well, I never,” muttered Mrs Dean as she went down the stairs. “Think of that, and you as don’t like her.”
The next minute Cora Dean and her mother were walking along the Parade with Linnell and Mellersh on either side, chatting about the evening.
“One cigar, Dick, before we go to bed,” said Mellersh, when they had been sitting together in his room for some time, after parting from their upstairs neighbours.
“I’m willing,” said Linnell, “for I feel as if I could not sleep.”
They lit their cigars, let themselves out, strolled down to the edge of the water, walked along by it in front of the Parade, and went upon the cliff again, to go back silently along the path till they neared the house where they had passed the evening, walking very slowly, and ending by stopping to lean over the cliff rails and gaze out to sea.
How long this had lasted they did not know, but all at once, as Mellersh turned, he gripped Richard Linnell by the arm and pointed.
Linnell saw it at the same moment: the figure of a man climbing over a balcony; and as they watched they could just see the gleam of one of the windows as it was evidently opened and he passed in.
“Dick!” whispered Mellersh; “what does that mean?”
“The same as the night that poor old woman was slain. Quick! Come on!”