“My niece, Jess, d’ye mean?” replied Wilfer, eyeing him suspiciously.  “Ain’t seen ’er fer months; run away last June, after ’elping ’erself to some of my cash, an’ ain’t been back since.  ’Sides, what’s it got to do with you, Guv’nor, I’d like to know?  You mind yer own bus’ness.”

He leered drunkenly at Leroy, who turned away with a look of disgust.  He knew how useless it was to expect truth from such a quarter.

As the gentleman stepped out into the dirty court and returned to his car Johann Wilfer blinked his eyes in relief; then with an oath he stumbled up the rickety stairs into the living-room, and confronted Jessica, who was standing near the window.

“So that’s yer little game, is it?” he said with a sneer; “you’re goin’ in for swells right away, are yer, my gal?  Got your name as pat as a poll-parrot.  Knows all my private business, I dessay; I’ll break every bone in yer body!”

He stumbled towards her where she stood—­her face still transfigured with joy at the sound of her benefactor’s voice—­and made a sudden grab at her hair.  But, alert and lithe as a leopardess, she bounded over the table, and slipped past him down the staircase, from the top of which he launched forth a long volley of curses.

Quivering and shaking, both with fear of Wilfer’s violence and her sense of injury at his denial of her presence to Leroy, Jessica ran, as fast as her frail body would permit her, through the intricate smaller streets and passages which abound in the Soho district.  Having gone far enough, in her opinion, to be fairly safe from any danger of Wilfer’s pursuit, she stopped to consider whether she should endeavour to find Leroy.

“After all,” she thought, “perhaps it is best as it is.  He would give me money, or perhaps a few kind words, and only make me long for him more.  Let him go, believing Johann’s falsehoods.”

As she walked wearily along dim remembrances of earlier days thronged her brain; of two women—­one whom she knew she had called Auntie—­and who had treated her kindly enough, before Johann had got her into his power.  Mingled with these thoughts came those of the man who had befriended her and even sought her out this day.  When she remembered how he had rescued her from cold, hunger, and the dangers of the streets her eyes filled with tears of gratitude.  Yet, though knowing how quickly he would aid her were she but to return to the beautiful room from which she had fled that very morning, she could not bring herself to seek his charity or ask his pity.  She realised well enough that one such as she could never hope to win a look of love from him; but like the moth that hovers round the flame which brings it danger she nevertheless determined to see him again.

With this object in view she slowly wended her way to Jermyn Court, wherein was the room in which she had supped and slept so delightfully.  Afterwards she thought she would try to gain some work that would at least secure food and lodging, however poor, where she could be safe from the cruelty of Wilfer; surely in all London there was something she could do.