“Just about where you passed me, I spoke to him--in the passage here. He was a short man, and not a gentleman, but I needed three pounds badly and nowadays you never know who has money and who hasn’t, do you? But as soon as he answered and looked at me I knew I had made a mistake, but there’s no use being rude, and so I walked on with him. He said something about the coolness of the weather, but although I kept my eyes in front of me, not liking the look of him, you see, I knew very well that he was taking me in sideways. There’s no use being silly, I told myself, but I did wish I hadn’t got my two pounds in my bag or that some one else would come into the passage, though there’s generally little chance of that at this hour of night, unless it’s a policeman to smoke a cigarette. And so I hurried on as quick as I could to get to Curzon Street, and we weren’t more than half-way through this passage then, but he got hold of my arm and stopped me quick enough. I didn’t look at his eyes, for I’d seen them once, you see, but I heard him asking for money, as I knew he would. And then he got hold of my bag by the strap, but I held on tight, saying there was naught in it but powder and a handkerchief, but still not looking at his eyes for I knew their kind well enough. But he held on, and said he would give me some cocaine, ‘snow’ he called it, if I let him have money, and with his other hand he fumbled in his pocket. ‘I’ll scream,’ I said, and at that he let go of my bag quick enough, so I could hurry on to Curzon Street. He dropped back then, but I was in such a state to get to Curzon Street that I couldn’t hear him behind me for the beating of my heart. But behind me he must have been, for I’d just got to within a yard--why, we’re at the spot now, I _have_ been slow in telling!--when from behind his hand clapped me over the mouth, and I heard him breathing very hoarse at my neck, and then a sharp funny pain in the shoulder-blade took me. As sharp as a knife, they say, but this was a knife, and ever so sharp in the shoulder-blade it was--but it didn’t hurt so much as feel funny, if you understand, and everything was so mixed up--his breathing, and the funny feeling in the shoulder-blade, and somewhere a clock striking once, but I went off before it struck again, for it must have been on three o’clock. I never thought death would be like that.” And George Tarlyon looked for the little lady and he saw only the wall, and George Tarlyon ran headlong out of Lansdowne Passage, and as he ran he heard a clock strike the last two notes of three o’clock. XIV: THE SMELL IN THE LIBRARY I