Left alone, the astonished Mrs. Silk took the visitor's vacated chair
and, with wrinkled brow, sat putting two and two together until the sum
got beyond her powers of calculation. Mr. Kybird's affability and
Teddy's cheerfulness were alike incomprehensible. She mended a hole in
her pocket and darned a pair of socks, and at last, anxious for advice,
or at least a confidant, resolved to see Mr. Wilks.

She opened the door and looked across the alley, and saw with some
satisfaction that his blind was illuminated. She closed the door behind
her sharply, and then stood gasping on the doorstep. So simultaneous
were the two happenings that it actually appeared as though the closing
of the door had blown Mr. Wilks's lamp out. It was a night of surprises,
but after a moment's hesitation she stepped over and tried his door. It
was fast, and there was no answer to her knuckling. She knocked louder
and listened. A door slammed violently at the back of the house, a
distant clatter of what sounded like saucepans came from beyond, and
above it all a tremulous but harsh voice bellowed industriously through
an interminable chant. By the time the third verse was reached Mr.
Wilks's neighbours on both sides were beating madly upon their walls and
blood-curdling threats strained through the plaster.

She stayed no longer, but regaining her own door sat down again to await
the return of her son. Mr. Silk was long in coming, and she tried in
vain to occupy herself with various small jobs as she speculated in vain
on the meaning of the events of the night. She got up and stood by the
open door, and as she waited the clock in the church-tower, which rose
over the roofs hard by, slowly boomed out the hour of eleven. As the
echoes of the last stroke died away the figure of Mr. Silk turned into
the alley.