"Yes, sir—this way, sir, an' min' the step, sir. See Mist' Barrymaine, yes, sir, firs' floor—an' would you be so good as to ax 'im to keep 'is feet still, or, as you might say, 'is trotters, sir—"
"His feet?"
"Also 'is legs, sir, if you'd be so very obleeging, sir."
"What do you mean?"
"Come an' listen, sir!" So saying, the woman opened a door and stood with a finger pointing unsteadily upwards. "Been a-doing of it ever since 'e came in a hour ago. It ain't loud, p'r'aps, but it's worriting—very worriting. If 'e wants to dance 'e might move about a bit 'stead o' keeping in one place all the time—'ark!" And she pointed with her quavering finger to a certain part of the ceiling whence came the tramp! tramp! of restless feet; and yet the feet never moved away.
"I'll go up!" said Barnabas, and, nodding to the slatternly woman, he hurried along the passage and mounting the dark stair, paused before a dingy door. Now, setting his ear to the panel, he heard a sound—a muffled sound, hoarse but continuous, ever and anon rising to a wail only to sink again, yet never quite ceasing. Then, feeling the door yield to his hand, Barnabas opened it and, stepping softly into the room, closed it behind him.
The place was very dark, except where the moon sent a fugitive beam through the uncurtained window, and face downward across this pale light lay a huddled figure from whose unseen lips the sounds issued—long, awful, gasping sobs; a figure that stirred and writhed like one in torment, whose clenched hands beat themselves upon the frayed carpet, while, between the sobbing and the beat of those clenched hands, came broken prayers intermingled with oaths and moaning protestations.
Barnabas drew a step nearer, and, on the instant, the grovelling figure started up to an elbow; thus, stooping down, Barnabas looked into the haggard face of Ronald Barrymaine.
"Beverley!" he gasped, "w-what d'you want? Go away,—l-leave me!"
"No!" said Barnabas, "it is you who must go away—at once. You must leave London to-night!"