Slowly he got up from his knees. Unless he went and jumped over
the parapet of the Embankment into the river--a possibility which
he grimly envisaged for a few moments--he knew that the only thing
to do was to go off at once for the police, and make, as the saying
is, a clean breast of it. After all he was innocent--innocent of
even a secret desire of encompassing Kitty's death. But would it
be possible to make even the indifferent, when aware of all the
circumstances, believe that? Yes, there was one such human being--and
as he thought of her his heart glowed with gratitude to God for
having made her known to him. Helen would believe him, Helen would
understand everything--and nothing else really mattered. It was
curious how the thought of Helen, which had been agony an hour ago,
now filled him with a kind of steadfast comfort.


As Sherston turned to go down the staircase, there came the distant
sound of the bursting of a motor tire, and the unhappy man started
violently. His nerves were now in pieces, but he remembered, as
he went down the stone steps, to feel in one of his pockets, to be
sure he had what he so seldom used, a card-case on him.

On reaching the front door he was surprised to find it open, and
to see just within the hall, their white caps and pale faces dimly
illumined by the little light that glimmered in from outside, two
trained nurses with bags in their hands. They were talking eagerly,
and took no notice of him as he passed.

For a moment Sherston wondered whether he ought to tell them of
the terrible accident which had just happened upstairs--but after
a momentary hesitation he decided that it would be better to go