CHAPTER XXVI.
THE HAND OF FATE.
The woman did not come forward immediately, but stood staring upward, in the attitude of one listening. It was a very brief space of time, to be sure, but it gave Barry a chance to pull himself together and recover from the petrifying amazement that had stricken him at the discovery that he was actually in his old lodging house.
When at length another sound from above started her toward him again, Lawrence had recovered his wits, and seized upon the only possible chance which was left him.
"Good evening, Mrs. Kerr," he said blandly, leisurely descending the remaining few steps. "I left a few small personal belongings in my room, and——"
The expression on the woman's face as she staggered back against the railing was so extraordinary that it fairly took Barry's breath away. There was amazement, of course, and a quick gasp of fear escaped her lips, but in a second every other emotion was swallowed up in a kind of triumphant gloating which was horrible to see.
"So you're back," she said, in an odd, suppressed voice. "I begun to think I wasn't never goin' to see you, an' here you are of your own free will Luck, I calls it—nothin' but luck."
Lawrence's first thought was that she had been drinking, and a moment later he saw that she was creeping closer to him, with a crablike motion, at the same time maneuvering so as to block the narrow passage.
What her idea was he could not conceive, but he had no desire to be detained a second longer, especially as the sounds from above told him that Joyce and his men were already descending the ladder from the roof.
"Isn't it luck?" he agreed, smiling genially. "Of course, I never thought I'd find you up at this hour, but, since I have, I may as well give you what you want right now."