d put my arms round his neck,
standing on tip-toe, and kissed him again.

He went past me, staggering and growling, into the sitting-room at the
end of the passage, and furiously banged down the lid of the piano, so
that every cord in it jangled deafeningly.

'Light the lamp,' he called out.

'In one second,' I said.

I locked the outer door on the inside, slipped the key into my pocket,
and picked up the candle.

'What were you doing out there?' he demanded.

'Nothing,' I said. 'I had to pick the candle up.'

He seized my hat from the table and threw it to the floor. Then
he sat down.

'Nex' time,' he remarked, 'you'll know better'n to keep me waiting.'

I lighted a lamp.

'I'm very sorry,' I said. 'Won't you go to bed?'

'I shall go to bed when I want,' he answered. 'I'm thirsty. In the
cupboard you'll see a bottle. I'll trouble you to give it me, with a
glass and some water.'

'This cupboard?' I said questioningly, opening a cupboard papered to
match the rest of the wall.

'Yes.'

'But surely you can't be thirsty, Diaz?' I protested.

'Must I repea' wha' I said?' he glared at me. 'I'm thirsty. Give me
the bottle.'

I took out the bottle nearest to hand. It was of a dark green colour, and
labelled 'Extrait d'Absinthe. Pernod fils.'

'Not this one, Diaz?'

'Yes,' he insisted. 'Give it me. And get a glass and some water.'

'No,' I said firmly.

'Wha'? You won't give it me?'

'No.'

He jumped up recklessly and faced me. His hat fell off the back
of his head.

'Give me that bottle!'

His breath poisoned the room.

I retreated in the direction of the window, and put my hand on the knob.

'No,' I said.

He sprang at me, but not before I had opened the window and thrown out
the bottle. I heard it fall in the roadway with a crash and scattering of
glass. Happily it had harmed no one. Diaz was momentarily checked. He
hesitated. I eyed him as steadily as I could, closing the while the
window behind me with my right hand.

'He may try to kill me,' I thought.

My heart was thudding against my dress, not from fear, but from
excitement. My situation seemed impossible to me, utterly passing belief.
Yesterday I had been a staid spinster, attended by a maid, in a hotel of
impeccable propriety. Today I had locked myself up alone with a riotous
drunkard in a vile flat in a notorious Parisian street. Was I mad? What
force, secret and powerful, had urged me on?... And there was the foul
drunkard,