The woman opened her lips and closed them again, sniffed, and led the
way down a short passage, at the end of which was a door.

"There you are," she muttered, throwing it open. "You've arst for it,
mind. 'Tain't my business."

She slouched her way back again into the shop. At first Pamela could
scarcely see anything except a dark figure on his knees before a closed
and shrouded window. Then she saw Hassan rise to his feet, saw the
glitter of his eyes.

"Pull up the blind, Hassan," she directed.

He came a step nearer to her. The gloom in the apartment was
extraordinary. Only his shape and his eyes were visible.

"Do as I tell you," she ordered. "Pull up the blind. It will be
better."

He hesitated. Then he obeyed. Even then the interior of the room seemed
shadowy and obscure. Pamela could only see, in contrast with the rest
of the house, that it was wonderfully and spotlessly clean. In one
corner, barely concealed by a low screen, his bed stood upon the floor.
Hassan muttered something in an Oriental tongue. Pamela interrupted
him. She spoke in the soothing tone one uses towards a child.

"That's all right, Hassan," she said. "Sorry to have interrupted you at
your prayers, but it had to be done. You know me?"