oughout the house, but no
one came. She rang again and yet again, holding her finger glued to
the bell at last and stamping her feet with impatience. At last, after
an endless interval, someone approached with a deliberate, shuffling
tread, the door was unbarred--there seemed several bolts--and opened
half-way to reveal a gim-crack interior in execrable taste and the
figure of an old woman with a hard wrinkled face and grey hair smoothly
banded under a black cap.

"_S'il vous plait, madame,_" began Esther, half crying with agitation,
"_Est-ce qu'on peut telephoner? C'est tres important, madame._"

The old face, unsmiling, critical, looked her over from head to foot.
Esther for the first time realised her dishevelled appearance, her
hatless head. She saw the hard eyes fix themselves in a suspicious
stare on a point upon her cheek under the left eye. Mechanically she
put up her hand and discovered a needle-like splinter of glass sticking
into her face. She had not felt it before: it must have come from the
electric-bulb which Holliday's revolver had shattered. There must be a
good deal of blood on her cheek....

"_Un accident,_" she murmured apologetically, trying to smile, then
repeated desperately, beseechingly: "_Le telephone, madame----? Je
suis tres presse----_"

The old woman spoke at last:

"_On n'a pas de telephone ici,_" she replied with a Belgian accent, and
pushed the door to in Esther's face.

Outraged and disappointed, the more so as she had caught sight of the
telephone-instrument in the hall, Esther stumbled down the steps and
out again to the street, sick at heart over the waste of time and
strength, both priceless now. The old witch, the iron-faced creature,
eyeing her as if she wanted to steal something! Never mind, she must
simply try the house next door.

This proved to be an imposing edifice where one would expect to find
several well-trained servants. Yet she rang the bell for three minutes
at least without eliciting any response. At length she was on the
point of departure, maddened by her fruitless efforts, when she was
rewarded by a sound above her head. Looking up she saw that a casement
had been thrown open and that a gentleman with his face covered in
lather was gazing down upon her--at first angrily, then archly. Quite
desperate now she framed her request in what French she could command,
scarcely able to wait for the reply. The result was disconcerting.
The shaving gen