THE TRAP VOLUMES IN THIS SERIES POINTED ROOFS BACKWATER HONEYCOMB THE TUNNEL INTERIM DEADLOCK REVOLVING LIGHTS THE TRAP OBERLAND (to follow shortly) THE TRAP BY DOROTHY M. RICHARDSON AUTHOR OF “THE TUNNEL,” “REVOLVING LIGHTS,” ETC. DUCKWORTH 3 HENRIETTA STREET, LONDON First published . . 1925 (All rights reserved) Printed in Great Britain at The Mayflower Press, Plymouth. William Brendon & Son, Ltd. TO BRYHER. THE TRAP CHAPTER I 1 A short by-street paved from side to side. Narrow house-fronts and the endmost houses, hiding the passage that curved round into the further street, high enough to keep out of sight the neighbouring cubes of model dwellings and to leave, as principal feature in the upper air, the spire of St. Pancras Church. An old little street. A scrap of old London standing apart, between the Bloomsbury squares and the maze of streets towards the City. The light gleaming from its rain-washed flagstones gave it a provincial air and a freshness unknown to the main streets, between whose buildings lay modern roadways dulled by mud or harsh with grimy dust. Whenever during all her London years Miriam had passed the spot where it opened into the thoroughfare, the little by-way had drawn her eyes; always stating its sequestered charm. Entering it now for the first time she had a sense of arriving nowhere. She found her number to the right, just beyond the opening, on a blistered door, whose knocker, a blurred, weather-worn iron face, gazed sadly downwards. Next the door, within a small window screened from the interior by a frayed serge curtain, were ranged small blocks of stone and marble, polished columns, scraps of moulding; and in the centre upon an oblong mount an alabaster finger. A lady’s forefinger, fastidiously posed—the nail, smooth joints and softly curving flesh most delicately carved. Its white cleanliness seemed to rebuke the dust that lay thick upon the other objects and made their welcome quiet and impersonal. It was personal, emotional. Arrogant, calling the eye from the surrounding dusty peace. Dust lay even upon the large grey cat compactly curled amongst the sharp angles and looking forth with a green eye, glass-clear and startlingly bright in contrast to the dried socket from which its fellow should have shone.