The man from upstairs cringed and drew his breath.
"No! No! Wisden! No!—don't do that! I'll do all you ask—all! Alice—my dear Alice—always said you were my best friend—my very best friend."
"And so I am, my dear fellow!" exclaimed Boyne. "I've done my best for you all along—all along."
"Look!" cried the lonely man who lived upstairs, and whose movements were never heard by deaf old Mrs. Felmore. "What's that?"
And with a shriek of horror he pointed to a corner of the dingy room.
"What? I don't see anything!" was Boyne's reply. "You've got one of those spooky fits of yours coming on again. You'd better go back."
"I don't want to go back," whined the person whose Christian name was Lionel. "Surely you won't send me back, Wisden?"
"Yes; for your own sake you must lie low. Try to understand what I say. We are mutually interested in each other. It is to the advantage of both that you should remain here. I am not your jailer, recollect. If you wish, you can walk out now. But I warn you that you will walk straight into the hangman's noose. Scotland Yard and the Old Bailey are awaiting you, and are ready, never fear."
"But where's Alice?" asked the squeaky voice.
"Alice is dead."