ed into the throng on foot.
On either side of the road were tall, flimsy houses with a wooden
staircase outside; those curious tenements so characteristic of the
poorer parts of Bombay, and in such marked contrast to the "Fort," the
European quarter of the town. They were occupied chiefly by Eurasians
and very poor Europeans. That the road was a sea of mud, varied by quite
deep pools of water, seemed the only possible reason why such houses
were not also burning.

Jan splashed bravely through the mud, interested and excited by the
people and the leaping flames so dangerously near. It was growing dusk;
the air was full of the acrid smell of burnt cotton, and the red glow
from the sky was reflected on the grave brown faces watching the fire.

Any crowd in Bombay is always extremely varied, and Jan almost forgot
her anxieties in her enjoyment of the picturesque scene.

"I don't think the people ought to be allowed to throng on the top of
that staircase," Peter said suddenly. "They aren't built to hold a
number at once; there'll be an accident," and he left her side for a
moment to speak to an inspector of police.

Jan looked up at a tall house on her left, where sightseers were
collecting on the staircase to get a better view. Every window was
crowded with gazers, all but one. From one, quite at the top, a solitary
watcher looked out.

There was a sudden shout from the crowd below, a redder glow as more
piled cotton fell into the general furnace and blazed up, and in that
moment Jan saw that the solitary watcher was Hugo Tancred, and that he
recognised her. She gave a little gasp of horror, which Peter heard as
he joined her again. "What is it?" he said. "What has frightened you?"

Jan pointed upwards. "I've just seen Hugo," she whispered. "There, in
one of those windows--the empty one. Oh, what can he be doing in those
dreadful houses, and why is he in Bombay all this time and never a word
to Fay?"

Jan was trembling. Peter put his hand under her arm and walked on with
her.

"I knew he was in Bombay," he said, "but I didn't think the poor devil
was reduced to this."

"What is to be done?" Jan exclaimed. "If he comes and worries Fay for
money now, it will kill her. She thinks he is safely out of India. What
_is_ to be done?"

"Nothing," said Peter. "He'll go the very minute he can, and you may be
sure he'll raise the wind somehow. He's got all sorts of queer irons in
the fire. He daren't appear at the flat, or