They in their day had carried the flaming liquor,
but to-day was his! So the song used to run in his head those summer
mornings a dozen years ago. Alexander walked by the place very quietly,
as if he were afraid of waking some one.
He crossed Bedford Square and found the number he was looking for. The
house, a comfortable, well-kept place enough, was dark except for the
four front windows on the second floor, where a low, even light was
burning behind the white muslin sash curtains. Outside there were window
boxes, painted white and full of flowers. Bartley was making a third
round of the Square when he heard the far-flung hoof-beats of a
hansom-cab horse, driven rapidly. He looked at his watch, and was
astonished to find that it was a few minutes after twelve. He turned and
walked back along the iron railing as the cab came up to Hilda's number
and stopped. The hansom must have been one that she employed regularly,
for she did not stop to pay the driver. She stepped out quickly and
lightly. He heard her cheerful "Good-night, cabby," as she ran up the
steps and opened the door with a latchkey. In a few moments the lights
flared up brightly behind the white curtains, and as he walked away
he heard a window raised. But he had gone too far to look up without
turning round. He went back to his hotel, feeling that he had had a good
evening, and he slept well.
For the next few days Alexander was very busy. He took a desk in the
office of a Scotch engineering firm on Henrietta Street, and was at work
almost constantly.
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