his
dinner basket carelessly on the floor with an affectation of joviality
and resting his hands on the table to support himself. 'I've come at
last, you see.'

Ruth left off sewing, and, letting her hands fall into her lap, sat
looking at him. She had never seen him like this before. His face was
ghastly pale, the eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, the lips tremulous and
moist, and the ends of the hair of his fair moustache, stuck together
with saliva and stained with beer, hung untidily round his mouth in
damp clusters.

Perceiving that she did not speak or smile, Easton concluded that she
was angry and became grave himself.

'I've come at last, you see, my dear; better late than never.'

He found it very difficult to speak plainly, for his lips trembled and
refused to form the words.

'I don't know so much about that,' said Ruth, inclined to cry and
trying not to let him see the pity she could not help feeling for him.
'A nice state you're in. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.'

Easton shook his head and laughed foolishly. 'Don't be angry, Ruth.
It's no good, you know.'

He walked clumsily towards her, still leaning on the table to steady
himself.

'Don't be angry,' he mumbled as he stooped over her, putting his arm
round her neck and his face close to hers. 'It's no good being angry,
you know, dear.'

She shrank away, shuddering with involuntary disgust as he pressed his
wet lips and filthy moustache upon her mouth. His fetid breath, foul
with the smell of tobacco and beer, and the odour of the stale tobacco
smoke that exuded from his clothes filled her with loathing. He kissed
her repeatedly and when at last he released her she hastily wiped her
face with her handkerchief and shivered.

Easton said he did not want any tea, and went upstairs to bed almost
immediately. Ruth did not want any tea either now, although she had
been very hungry before he came home. She sat up very late, sewing,
and when at length she did go upstairs she found him lying on his back,
partly undressed on the outside of the bedclothes, with his mouth wide
open, breathing stertorously.

Chapter 20

The Forty Thieves. The Battle: Brigands versus Bandits

This is an even more unusually dull and uninteresting chapter, and
introduces several matters that may appear to have nothing to do with
the case. The reader is nevertheless entreated to peruse it, because
it contains certain information necessary to an unders