skirts and run, or to stand her ground and demand an explanation from
the person who was undoubtedly following her. She chose the latter.

"Who is there? Why are you following me? What do you want?" she flung
out, keeping her voice as steady as the hard, sharp hammering of her
heart would permit.

The question was answered at once--rather startlingly, since the
footsteps which caused her alarm, had all the while proceeded from
behind, and slightly to the left of her. Now there came a hurried rush
and scramble on the right; there was the sound of a match being
scratched, a blob of light in the grey of the mist, and she saw standing
in front of her, a ragged, weedy, red-headed youth, with the blazing
match in his scooped hands.

He was thin to the point of ghastliness. Hunger was in his pinched face,
his high cheekbones, his gouged jaws; staring like a starved wolf,
through the unnatural brightness of his pale eyes, from every gaunt
feature of him.

"'Ullo!" he said with a strong Cockney accent, as he came up out of the
fog, and the flare of the match gave him a full view of her, standing
there with her lips shut hard, and, the hand-bag dutched up close to her
with both hands. "You wot called, was it? Wot price me for arnswerin' of
you, eh?"

"Yes, it was I that called," she replied, making a brave front of it.
"But I do not think it was you that I called to. Keep away, please.
Don't come any nearer. What do you want?" "Well, I'll take that blessed
'and-bag to go on with; and if there aren't no money in it--tumble it