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Page 25
The girl did not answer for a moment. She seemed puzzled to answer the
question. At last she said:
"I didn't mean to. When I saw you first, at the wharf, at the back
there, I just looked at you and hid myself again. And then I thought to
myself that as you were a gentleman perhaps I might dare to ask you what
I did."
Max, not unnaturally, grew more doubtful still. This apparently deserted
building, which he was asked to enter by the back way, might be a
thievish den of the worst possible character, and this girl, innocent as
she certainly looked, might be a thieves' decoy. Something in his face
or in his manner must have betrayed his thoughts to the shrewd Londoner;
for she suddenly drew back, uttering a little cry of horror. Without
another word she turned and slunk back along the passage and into the
street.
Now, if Max had been a little older, or a little more prudent, if he had
indeed been anything but a reckless young rascal with a taste for
exciting adventure, he would have taken this opportunity of getting away
from such a very questionable neighborhood. But, in the first place, he
was struck by the girl's story, which seemed to fit in only too well
with what he knew; and in the second place, he was interested in the
girl herself, the refinement of whose face and manner, in these dubious
surroundings, had impressed him as much as the expression of horror on
her face and the agony of cold which had caused her teeth to chatter and
her limbs to tremble.
Surely, he thought, the suspicions he had for a moment entertained about
her were incorrect. He began to feel that he could not go away without
making an effort to ascertain if there were any truth in her story.
He went along the passage and got back to the wharf by the same means as
before. Making his way round the pile of timber upon which he had first
seen the girl, he discovered a little lane, partly between and partly
over the planks, which he promptly followed in the hope of coming in
sight of her again.
And, crouching under the wall of a ruinous outhouse, in an attitude
expressive of the dejection of utter abandonment, was the white-faced
girl.
The discovery was enough for Max. All considerations of prudence, of
caution, crumbled away under the influence of the intense pity he felt
for the forlorn creature.
"Look here," said he, "I'll go in, if you like. Have you got a light?"
"No--o," answered the girl, in a voice which was thick with sobs. "But I
can show you where to get one when you get inside."
Max had by this time reached the ground, which was slimy and damp under
the eaves; and he pushed his way, with an air of recklessness which hid
some natural trepidation, into the outhouse, the door of which was not
even fastened.
"Why," said he, turning to the girl, who was close behind him, "you
could have got in yourself easily enough. At least you would have been
warmer in here than outside."
His suspicions were starting up again, and they grew stronger as he
perceived that she was paying little attention to him, that she seemed
to be listening for some expected sound. The place in which they now
stood was quite dark, and Max, impatient and somewhat alarmed by the
position in which he found himself, struck a match and looked round him.
"Now," said he, "find me a candle, if you can."
Even by the feeble light of the match he could see that he was in a sort
of a scullery, which bore traces of recent occupation. A bit of yellow
soap, some blacking and a couple of brooms in one corner, a pail and a
wooden chair in another, were evidently not "tenant's fixtures."
And then Max noted a strange circumstance--the two small windows were
boarded up on the inside.
By the time he had taken note of this, the girl had brought him a candle
in a tin candlestick, which she had taken from a shelf by the door.
"That's the way," she said, in a voice as low a before, pointing to an
inner door. "Through the back room, and into the front one. He lies in
there."
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