"Then follow me, and before ten minutes are past, you will have secured your man."
I did so—cautiously, suspiciously; for my adventure three evenings before, had rendered me unusually circumspect and watchful. She led the way to the most crowded quarter of St. Giles's, and when she had reached the entrance of a dark blind alley, called Hine's-court, turned into it, and beckoned me to follow.
"Nay, nay, Madame Jaubert," I exclaimed, "that won't do. You mean fairly, I dare say; but I don't enter that respectable alley alone at this time of night."
She stopped, silent and embarrassed. Presently she said, with a sneer, "You are afraid, I suppose?"
"Yes, I am."
"What is to be done, then?" she added, after a few moments' consideration. "He is alone, I assure you."
"That is possible; still I do not enter that cul-de-sac to-night unaccompanied save by you."
"You suspect me of some evil design, Mr. Waters?" said the woman, with an accent of reproach. "I thought you might, and yet nothing can be further from the truth. My sole object is to obtain the reward, and escape from this life of misery and degradation to my own country, and, if possible, begin the world respectably again. Why should you doubt me?"
"How came you acquainted with this robber's haunts?"
"The explanation is easy, but this is not the time for it. Stay—can't you get assistance?"