Not that he felt tempted to follow them; in his lowest depths of misery that door of escape had never allured him.

Yet as he stood he felt fascinated, and even soothed, by the ceaseless noise of the rain on the invisible water beneath.

It seemed almost like the voice of a friend far away.
He had been listening for some time, crouched in a dark corner of the parapet, when he became aware of footsteps approaching.
Imagining at first they were those of a policeman coming to dislodge the tramp from his lurking-place, he prepared to get up and move on.

But listening again he remained where he was.
The footsteps were not those of a policeman.

They approached fitfully, now quickly, now slowly, now stopping still for a moment or two, yet they were too agitated for those of a drunkard, and too uncertain for those of a fugitive from justice.
As they drew near to the bridge they stopped once more, and Jeffreys, peering through the darkness, saw a form clutching the railings, and looking down in the direction of the water.