"Oh, nothing sir, nothing. But there's a very strong resemblance in this gentleman to some one"--she hesitated and shuddered--"to some one I once knew. I thought it was him come back at first. I see now that there's lots of difference. I've had an unhappy life, sir." She began to sob quietly. "Now, drink this," said the landlord, handing her the brandy which the chambermaid had just brought. "Stop crying and Elsie will take you up to your room. Your references are all right and I don't want to know nothing of your history. Do your duty by me like a good girl and you'll find me a good master. Your past's nothing to me." Lothian and the landlord went out into the stable yard where the rainbow-throated pigeons were murmuring on the tiled roofs, and the ostler--like Mousqueton--was spitting meditatively. They discussed this strange occurrence. "I never saw a woman so frightened!" said Mr. Helzephron. "You might have been old Bogy himself, Mr. Lothian. I didn't know what to think for a moment! I hope she doesn't drink." "Well, I suppose we've all got a double somewhere or other," Lothian answered. "I suppose she saw some likeness in me to some one who has ill used her, poor thing." "Oh, yes, sir," Helzephron replied. "That's it--she said as much. Half the plays and novels turn on such likenesses. I used to be a great play-goer when I was in London and I've seen all the best actresses. But I'm damned if I ever see such downright horror as there was in that girl's face. He must have been a bad un whoever he was. Real natural tragedy in that face--William, put in Mr. Lothian's horse." He said good-bye and re-entered the hotel. Lothian remained in the centre of the yard. He lit a cigarette and watched the horse being harnessed. His face was clouded with thought. It was very strange! How frightful the poor woman had looked. It was a nightmare face, a face of Gustave Doré from the Inferno engravings! He never saw the woman again, as it happened, and never knew who she was. If he had read of the Hackney murder in the papers of the year before he had given it no attention. He knew nothing of the coarse siren for whose sake the poisoned man of Hackney had killed the wife who loved him, and who, under an assumed name, was living out her obscure and haunted life in menial toil. Dr. Morton Sims might have thrown some light upon the incident at the George perhaps. But then Dr. Morton Sims never heard of it and it soon passed from the poet's mind. No doubt the Fiend Alcohol who provided the incidental music at the head of his orchestra was smiling. For the Overture to the Dance of Death is curiously coloured music and there are red threads of melody interwoven with the sable chords. CHAPTER VI AN OMNES EXEUNT FROM MORTLAND ROYAL "Wenn Menschen auseinandergehn So sagen sie--auf Wiedersehn! Ja Wiederseh'n." --_Goethe._ Dickson Ingworth returned from the post office with several letters.