Nearly an hour elapsed before she heard a knock. Mr. Baines had had to
arouse his clerk from sleep. Instead of going down to the front-door,
Mary threw up the bedroom window and looked out. It was a mild but
starless night. Trafalgar Road was silent save for the steam-car, which,
with its load of revellers returning from Hanbridge--that centre of
gaiety--slipped rumbling down the hill towards Bursley.

'What do you want--disturbing a respectable house at this time of
night?' she called in a loud whisper when the car had passed. 'The
door's bolted, and I can't come down. You must come in the morning.'

'Miss Beechinor, ye will let us in--I charge ye.'

'It's useless, Mr. Baines.'

'I'll break the door down. I'm a strong man, and a determined. Ye are
carrying things too far.'

In another moment the two men heard the creak of the bolts. Mary stood
before them, vaguely discernible, but a forbidding figure.

'If you must--come upstairs,' she said coldly.

'Stay here in the passage, Arthur,' said Mr. Baines; 'I'll call ye when
I want ye;' and he followed Mary up the stairs.

Edward Beechinor lay on his back, and his sunken eyes stared glassily at
the ceiling. The skin of his emaciated face, stretched tightly over the
protruding bones, had lost all its crimson, and was green, white,
yellow. The mouth was wide open. His drawn features wore a terribly