He closed the door after him. Roddick moved swiftly to the window, and peered through. There was nothing to be seen. He rattled his hand against the glass with pitiful impotence.
"You—devil!" he said, slowly.
When Griff opened the front door, a storm of wind and rain struck him full in the face. He pushed his way out with a laugh; wind and rain were staunch old friends, and this sort of horse-play was to his liking. He had barely crossed the threshold, and was about to turn and pull to the door after him, when a thing leaped out of the darkness. Something hard and bony went round his neck; something flabby and wet pressed close to his lips. He put out his arms and grasped a bundle of rags.
"It's cold and dark," said a voice. "And what call have you, Leo, to keep your true love waiting?"
Griff thrust the loathsome thing away, not without effort—those lean arms round his neck gripped like a vice. A hollow laugh went up into the darkness, and from the mingled odours Griff singled out the reek of brandy.
"Oh, I'm drunk," went on the voice; "but you took me for better or worse, Leo; yes, you did, so help me God!—and here you keep me waiting in the cold and the wet—in the cold and the wet. But you'll kiss me just once, Leo? That'll make it all right. Take me in, I tell you, and give me warmth; give me food and drink—drink, yes, drink!"
"Roddick!" shouted Griff. He feared this evil creature as he had never yet feared man.
A shadow came before the hall lamp, and Roddick stood at his side.
"What is it?" he demanded testily.