DOWNING STREET

Westerham whipped round on his heel towards Melun.

“What is that?” he asked sharply.

Melun shrugged his shoulders.

From Melun Westerham turned to the negro, whose teeth were bared in a wide grin.

“What is that?” Westerham demanded of him.

But the negro took his cue from Melun and merely shrugged his shoulders.

Then there came the scream again, louder and more terror-stricken than before. Westerham did not hesitate.

Before the negro had time to utter any protest he had snatched the lantern from his hand and was racing up the stairs.

Again came the scream, and Westerham blundered up the second flight, the negro and Melun hard upon his heels.

On the second landing there was no longer any doubt as to where the cries came from. Westerham dashed at the door, only to find it locked. In a second he had his shoulder against the crazy panel, and the door went in with a crash, disclosing a frowsy little sitting-room somewhat in disorder. All about was spread signs of a meal. Two girls—Westerham judged them to be young East End[Pg 62] Jewesses—were huddled in a corner, while a man, whom Westerham at once recognised as a sailor, stood swaying drunkenly over them.

[Pg 62]

He had his hand at the man's collar in a moment, and swung him heavily backwards.

The negro, his face quivering with passion, blocked the doorway, knife in hand.

It was Westerham's turn to use firearms now, and he covered the man with as certain and as deadly an aim as that which had extorted the confession of Captain Melun on the Gigantic.

The girls ceased to scream, but clung together, crying and looking at Westerham in an appealing way with eyes blurred with tears.

Melun thrust the negro aside and brushed into the room.

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