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.
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