then, were in bed.  Vaguely comforted by this, I walked on to the New Street end of the court and looked out.  Here, too, a man—­a tall, thick-set man—­was loitering; and, as he looked inquisitively into my face, I turned and reentered the court, slowly retracing my steps.  As I again reached the gate of the house I stopped to look up once more at the windows, and turning, I found the man whom I had last noticed close behind me.  Then, in a flash of dreadful comprehension, I understood.  These two men were plain-clothes policemen.

For a moment a blind fury possessed me.  An insane impulse urged me to give battle to this intruder; to avenge upon his person the insult of his presence.  Fortunately the impulse was but momentary, and I recovered myself without making any demonstration.  But the appearance of those two policemen brought the peril into the immediate present, imparted to it a horrible actuality.  A chilly sweat of terror stood on my forehead, and my ears were ringing when I walked with faltering steps out into Fetter Lane.

CHAPTER XVIII

JOHN BELLINGHAM

The next few days were a very nightmare of horror and gloom.  Of course, I repudiated my acceptance of the decree of banishment that Ruth had passed upon me.  I was her friend, at least, and in time of peril my place was at her side.  Tacitly—­though thankfully enough, poor girl!—­she had recognised the fact and made me once more free of the house.

For there was no disguising the situation.  Newspaper boys yelled the news up and down Fleet Street from morning to night; soul-shaking posters grinned on gaping crowds; and the newspapers fairly wallowed in the “Shocking details.”  It is true that no direct accusations were made; but the original reports of the disappearance were reprinted with such comments as made me gnash my teeth with fury.

The wretchedness of those days will live in my memory until my dying day.  Never can I forget the dread that weighed me down, the horrible suspense, the fear that clutched at my heart as I furtively scanned the posters in the streets.  Even the wretched detectives who prowled about the entrances to Nevill’s Court became grateful to my eyes, for, embodying as they did the hideous menace that hung over my dear lady, their presence at least told me that the blow had not yet fallen.  Indeed, we came, after a time, to exchange glances of mutual recognition, and I thought that they seemed to be sorry for her and for me, and had no great liking for their task.  Of course, I spent most of my leisure at the old house, though my heart ached more there than elsewhere; and I tried, with but poor success, I fear, to maintain a cheerful, confident manner, cracking my little jokes as of old, and even essaying to skirmish with Miss Oman.  But this last experiment was a dead failure; and when she had suddenly broken down in a stream of brilliant repartee to weep hysterically on my breast, I abandoned the attempt and did not repeat it.