"You goin' up to 'er flat?" she demanded; "'cos if you are she ain't in."
There was a sort of defiant displeasure in her words that, to Ruxton, might have been just her natural form of address, or might not have been.
He paused, glanced down at her bundle, and finally regarded her severely.
"Where are you going?" he demanded.
"Don't see it's your bizness. Any'ow I'm goin' to do a bit o' shoppin'."
Then Ruxton adopted a high hand.
"Well, just come back up-stairs a minute. Your shopping will keep. I want to speak to you on a matter of importance. Come along."
He moved on up the stairs, and Mrs. Jenkins, used to obeying somebody at all times, followed him protestingly.
"I don't see I got no right any'ow. But wot with her bein' away, and stoppin' away, and me 'avin' no food to eat, as you might say, an' my wages overdue, an' the bills unpaid, I don't know, I'm sure. Maybe you got my wages with you, bein' a friend of 'ers?"
But Ruxton offered no explanation until they reached the flat and the door of it was securely shut behind them. Then he turned upon her with a forcefulness that reduced her to the necessary condition for giving all the information he needed with the least superfluous verbiage.