“No one seemed to notice us come in,” Julia pleaded.  “Let me stay, too.  You heard what the porter said—­we could choose what rooms we liked.  It is safer in this part of London than in the East End, and you know,” she added, looking at him steadily, “that if there is trouble to come, I have no fear.”

Maraton hesitated.  Perhaps they were as well where they were, under shelter.  He nodded.

“Very well,” he agreed.  “There seems to be no one to show us about.  We will go and select rooms.”

In the hall they passed a man in the livery of the hotel.  Maraton enquired the way to the telephone, but he only shook his head.

“Telephone isn’t working, sir,” he announced, “not to private subscribers, at any rate.  They haven’t answered a call for two days.”

“Are any meals being served in the restaurant?” Maraton asked.

The man shook his head.

“Not regular meals, sir,” he replied.  “What food we’ve got is all locked up.  You can get something between eight and nine.  We close the hotel doors then.”

“They tell me I can select any room I like upstairs that isn’t occupied,” Maraton remarked.

The porter nodded.

“Nearly all the servants have gone,” he explained, “so they can’t try to run the hotel.  Gone out to find food somewhere.  They couldn’t feed them here.”

“Is there wine in the place?” Selingman asked.

“Plenty,” the man answered.

“If needs be, then, we will carouse,” Selingman declared.  “First, a wash.  Then I will forage.  Leave it to me to forage, you others.  I know the tricks.  I shall not go away.  I shall stay here with you.”

They selected rooms—­Maraton and Selingman adjoining ones on the first floor; the others higher up.  Then Selingman departed on his expedition, and Maraton sat down before the window in the sitting-room.  He drew aside the curtain and stared.  They had been in the hotel rather less than half an hour, but the autumn twilight had deepened rapidly.  Darkness had fallen upon the city—­a strange, unredeemed darkness.  The street lamps were unlit.  It was as though a black hand had been laid upon the place.  Only here and there the sky was reddened as though with conflagration.  Maraton’s head sunk upon his arms.  These, indeed, were the days when he would need all his courage.  He threw open the window.  There was a curious silence without.  The roar of traffic had ceased entirely.  The only sound was the footfall of the people upon the pavement.  He looked down into the street, crowded with little knots of men, one or two of them carrying torches.  He watched them stream by.  It was the breaking up of the crowd which had gathered together to sack and burn his house.

The door was softly opened and closed again.  He turned half around.  Through the shadows he saw Julia’s pale face as she came swiftly towards him.  With a sudden gesture she fell on her knees by his side.  Her fingers clasped him, she clung to his arm.