“I saw your face as you passed,” she said. “You might be dangerous to a lady in a drawing-room but not in Lansdowne Passage. Unlike some men I know....”
They were walking very slowly, and still had almost half of the passage to go, but George Tarlyon did not say, “Hurry up, little lady,” thinking she was a pathetic little thing, more than usually pathetic of her kind. But he was not interested in her, and it was only out of politeness that he asked:
“Have you had trouble with one or two, then?”
“With one,” she told him softly. She was so small, and he so tall, that her voice seemed to float up to him from somewhere about his knees. He scarcely listened to it. To tell the truth, he was rather tired. “With one,” she repeated. “That is why I am afraid of walking through here by myself at night. It happened many years ago, but every detail is still very clear to me.”
“He must have frightened you a good deal,” said George Tarlyon. Not that he was interested.
“I wouldn’t say that,” said the little lady gently. “But it was certainly the most important thing that has ever happened in my life. You see, sir, I had to get three pounds that night. I had already made two pounds, for that is all I have ever dared to ask, though sometimes the kinder gentlemen have given me more, but that night I had to make three pounds more, for five pounds a week was the rent of my rooms and already overdue some time....” The gentle voice ran on, floating up to him from somewhere about his knee, and he scarcely listened. They were quite near the Curzon Street end now, and the words floated upwards quicker....
“Just about where you passed me, I spoke to him—in the passage here. He was a short man, and not a gentleman, but I needed three pounds badly and nowadays you never know who has money and who hasn’t, do you? But as soon as he answered and looked at me I knew I had made a mistake, but there’s no use being rude, and so I walked on with him. He said something about the coolness of the weather, but although I kept my eyes in front of me, not liking the look of him, you see, I knew very well that he was taking me in sideways. There’s no use being silly, I told myself, but I did wish I hadn’t got my two pounds in my bag or that some one else would come into the passage, though there’s generally little chance of that at this hour of night, unless it’s a policeman to smoke a cigarette. And so I hurried on as quick as I could to get to Curzon Street, and we weren’t more than half-way through this passage then, but he got hold of my arm and stopped me quick enough. I didn’t look at his eyes, for I’d seen them once, you see, but I heard him asking for money, as I knew he would. And then he got hold of my bag by the strap, but I held on tight, saying there was naught in it but powder and a handkerchief, but still not looking at his eyes for I knew their kind well enough. But he held on, and said he would give me some cocaine, ‘snow’ he called it, if I let him have money, and with his other hand he fumbled in his pocket. ‘I’ll scream,’ I said, and at that he let go of my bag quick enough, so I could hurry on to Curzon Street. He dropped back then, but I was in such a state to get to Curzon Street that I couldn’t hear him behind me for the beating of my heart. But behind me he must have been, for I’d just got to within a yard—why, we’re at the spot now, I have been slow in telling!—when from behind his hand clapped me over the mouth, and I heard him breathing very hoarse at my neck, and then a sharp funny pain in the shoulder-blade took me. As sharp as a knife, they say, but this was a knife, and ever so sharp in the shoulder-blade it was—but it didn’t hurt so much as feel funny, if you understand, and everything was so mixed up—his breathing, and the funny feeling in the shoulder-blade, and somewhere a clock striking once, but I went off before it struck again, for it must have been on three o’clock. I never thought death would be like that.”
And George Tarlyon looked for the little lady and he saw only the wall, and George Tarlyon ran headlong out of Lansdowne Passage, and as he ran he heard a clock strike the last two notes of three o’clock.