"'Cos there's some one waitin' for 'im--pleasant sort o' gent, wiv a smile that does yer 'eart good to see. Real genel'man, mind you," she added, with a confident nod. "Has he told you his name?" I asked, in a whisper. "Yus. Name o' Dawkins," she replied. I went scrambling and stumbling up the stairs; behind me as I ran I heard the girl Moggs calling to me, but I paid no heed. CHAPTER VIII I ASSIST THE ENEMY As I came to the door of that shabby room in which I knew the man Dawkins was, a great trembling fell upon me, so that I hesitated, and was afraid to go in. It was not fear for myself: I think at that time I had no fear of anything; it was only that I knew that I should not be able to control myself, if I stood face to face with this creature who had assisted Murray Olivant to secure the girl, and now held her to be sold for a price. I stopped outside the door, with my hands clenched, and with my heart beating wildly. The tumult of passion in me was stilled by the girl, who had run hard after me up the stairs. I felt her coarsened grubby little hand gripping mine; slowly she drew me back away from the door. "'Ere--pull yerself togevver," she whispered. "Wot's wrong wiv yer?" "If I go into that room I am afraid of what I may do," I said, clutching at the girl, and staring at the closed door. "I'm afraid of myself." "Wot's 'e done?" she whispered excitedly. "Nothing you'd understand," I said. "But oh, Moggs--have you ever read or heard anywhere any fairy tale, concerning some wonderful princess, shut away in prison and left to pine, while her lover waited in vain for her. Have you, Moggs?" She nodded quickly, and her face expanded into a grin. "Yus--I did once," she whispered. "It came 'ere with summink wrapped in it--bit of a Christmas story, it was." "There's a wonderful princess held prisoner by that man," I whispered eagerly. "And he'll smile--and smile--and I am powerless to do anything to help. You wise little person--tell me what to do?" She plunged her grubby hands into her hair, and wrinkled up her face in thought; then she caught at my hand again, and whispered a startling suggestion. "Go in an' talk to 'im," she said, "an' keep yer dander down. W'en 'e goes out presently, I'll foller 'im--an' if I don't come back knowin' w'ere she is, my name ain't Moggs. Is she a real tiptopper?" "Beautiful, and gentle, and good," I assured her, as she listened unctuously. "An' 'im wot's sweet on 'er--is 'e all right?" "The best fellow in the world," I replied. "Then this is just w'ere I come in!" exclaimed the strange little creature. "I was born for this 'ere!"