They followed slowly in its wake, hemmed in by the rabble that streamed towards Ridgmount Gardens, to lose itself in the black slums of Bloomsbury.

On the pavement the reeling girl was swept on with the crowd, still singing her hideous song.

Mrs.Nevill Tyson was leaning back now, with her eyes closed, not heeding the ugly pageant.

But the scene came back to her in nightmares afterwards.
As Stanistreet's hansom turned after leaving her at Ridgmount Gardens, he thought he saw some one remarkably like Tyson standing in the shadow of the railings opposite her door.

He must have seen them; and but for the delay they would probably have overtaken and so missed him.
And Stanistreet kept on saying to himself: No.