It came from the gloomy gruesomeness between the Needle and the Thames. I peered and listened. Below me the hideous river chuckled, and the lamplight fell lividly on the whiteness of a lifebuoy bound to the wall. Again I was sure I heard that sound of piteous sobbing.
Bravery is often a lack of imagination: I have imagination plus, so I hesitated. I had heard of men being lured into traps. Vividly enough I saw myself a cadaver drifting on the tide, and I liked not the picture. Yet after all it takes tremendous courage to be a coward, so I drew nearer. Strange! the sobbing, so low, so pitiful, had ceased. It was followed by a silence far more sinister. There was a vibrating agony in that silence, a horrible, heart-clutching suspense. What if I were to go down there and find—no one? Yet some one had been, I would swear; some one had sobbed, and now—silence.
Slowly, slowly I descended the steps. There in the black shadow of the Needle I made little noise, yet—suddenly I began to wonder if all the world could not hear the beating of my heart....
Heart be still! hand be steady! foot be swift! There, crouching on the top of the wall, gazing downward, ready for the leap, I see the figure of a woman. Will she jump before I can reach her? I hold my breath. Nearer I steal, nearer, nearer. Then—one swift rush—ah! I have her.
Even as I clutched I felt her weight sag towards the river. Another moment and I had dragged her back into safety. Tense and panting, I stared at her; then, as the lamplight fell on her ghastly face I uttered a cry of amazement. Heavens above! it was the girl of the entomological meal-ticket, the persistent pedestrian of Tavistock Square.
There she cowered, looking at me with great, terror dilated eyes. There I glowered, regarding her grimly enough. At last I broke the silence.
“Child! Child! why did you do it? You’ve gone and spoilt my story. I should never have met you like this. It’s coincidence. Coincidence, you know, can’t happen in fiction, only in real life. You can’t be fiction now. You’ll have to be real life.”
She gazed at me blankly. Against the green of the wall her face was a vague splash of white.
“But that is a matter with which I can scarcely reproach you. What I would like to know is why were you on the top of that wall? Having severely strained my right arm, I conceive I am entitled to an explanation.”
She did not make an effort to supply one, so after a pause I continued: