One day Journeyman was surprised to see Ketley sitting quite composedly in the jug and bottle bar.
"He got me at last; I had to go, the whispering got so loud in my head as I was a-coming down the street. I tried to get out into the middle of the street, but a drunken chap pushed me across the pavement, and he was at the door waiting, and he said, 'Now, you'd better come in; you know what will happen if you don't.'"
"Don't talk rot, old pal; come round and have a drink with us."
"I can't just at present—I may later on."
"What do he mean?" said Stack.
"Lord, I don't know," said Journeyman. "It's only his wandering talk."
They tried to discuss the chances of the various horses they were interested in, but they could not detach their thoughts from Ketley, and their eyes went back to the queer little sallow-faced man who sat on a high stool in the adjoining bar paring his nails.
They felt something was going to happen, and before they could say the word he had plunged the knife deep into his neck, and had fallen heavily on the floor. William vaulted over the counter. As he did so he felt something break in his throat, and when Stack and Journeyman came to his assistance he was almost as white as the corpse at his feet. Blood flowed from his mouth and from Ketley's neck in a deep stream that swelled into a great pool and thickened on the sawdust.
"It was jumping over that bar," William replied, faintly.
"I'll see to my husband," said Esther.