I saw nothing of Moggs; I went back into the room, and shut the door. It seemed at that time as though all I had striven to do and all I had hoped for had been brought to naught; I stood helpless in this poor shabby room, staring about me, and wondering what I should do. What power did I possess--poor broken outcast, without even a name, and assisted only by a little drab of the streets; what could we do against such men as Olivant? I recognized, now that it was too late, that I ought to have played a different game; that I should have matched cunning with cunning, and devilry with devilry; I had been too blunt and outspoken. And then my thoughts flew back to the boy, waiting doggedly outside the rooms of the man who had set out to ruin him and the girl he loved; and I saw the Fate that had dogged and destroyed me marching grimly on over me, and striking down young Arnold Millard. I had no power to stay his hand; nor was there any power behind such threats as I might use to Olivant and the others. I was like a man who stands in the dark, with three or four roads stretching out from the point at which he is, and uncertain in his own mind which to take. I had thoughts of going to my Barbara, and making her understand more completely even than she understood yet the peril in which her child stood; but, on the other hand, I knew that to do that would be useless while the girl was still lost to us. Then I thought of sending to Lucas Savell; but remembered what manner of man he was, and how utterly useless he would be in a crisis. It seemed monstrous that I should stand here, helpless, in the midst of a great city--unable to do anything; but I had to remember, bitterly enough, that I was a man with the brand of Cain upon me, and a long prison record behind me; more than that, I was known in London and elsewhere as living under another name. It was all a horrible tangle, from which it seemed impossible that we should ever escape. I heard a step upon the stairs--too heavy to be that of Moggs; it was a jaded weary step, and it stopped outside the door. I went to the door, and opened it; outside a man stood, and as he thrust me aside and came in I saw that it was Jervis Fanshawe. He threw down a small untidy bundle on to the bed, and tossed his hat after it, and sank into a chair. "Give me something to drink," he said hoarsely. I found something, and gave it to him; he drank it greedily, looking at me as he did so with a curious expression in his eyes. Once he made up his mind to speak; but he stopped, even as he opened his lips, and half rose in his chair, staring hard at the door. He did not look at me; his voice was a mere shaking whisper. "There's some one on the stairs!" Then, as I moved quickly to the door, he sprang up and confronted me, and pressed me back; and his face was like death itself. "No--no--don't open the door. I know what it is, and I couldn't bear to see it again."