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closed again, the policeman returned to the woman; she lay in a heap under the big door. He picked her up in his arms, and as he did so a number of lights appeared. Then he saw the gaol ambulance coming purring down the yard. The great door swung open. The ambulance drove out into the long deserted road.
    â€˜Where is she?’
    â€˜Here.’
    â€˜Right-o. Get her in. Where to? Southern? General?’
    The policeman, with the help of the warder, managed to get the woman inside. The warder closed and locked the door. The engine opened out.
    â€˜No hospital except the nearest one,’ he called through to the driver. ‘The woman is in a bad way.’
    The ambulance moved off, gave a grunt or two, then purred gently away from the prison.
    The policeman suddenly found that he had lost his lantern. He must have left it on the ground. How dark it was. Ought to have a light. Instead he struck a match and looked down at the woman on the stretcher. Was she looking at him or was it imagination on his part? ‘Poor old woman,’ he said, then made himself more comfortable on the opposite seat.
    The ambulance reached the populated area. They weren’t far off. Before he realized it they had stopped dead. They had reached the hospital.
    At five minutes past three the same morning a policeman on a bicycle jumped off at No. 17 Hey’s Alley. He gave three loud bangs on the knocker, and in the long silent street its sound was thunderous. He heard feet on the stairs. When the door opened he flashed his light on the man, for the house was in complete darkness. ‘Name of Fury?’
    These three words were followed by a torrent from the man at the door.
    â€˜Yes! My Christ, man! What’s the matter! I——Oh God, what’s all this about? Yes, my name’s Fury. Dennis Fury. Tell me——Oh, Fanny, Fanny! again,
again!' His voice broke.
    The policeman switched off his light. It was kindness to do this. He leaned forward and put a hand on the man’s shoulders. Mr. Fury had both hands to his face. He shivered. He stood in singlet and drawers. The shoulders continued to shake under the hands.
    â€˜All right! Now don’t you worry! It’s nothing terrible. But you must go and get dressed right away. There’s a good man. There’s a woman lying at the General Hospital. You’d better hurry. You know the way? It’s not far.’
    â€˜Not far,’ exclaimed the man, and his tone of voice seemed to proclaim that the distance was one million miles. ‘Not far!’ he said. ‘Oh, Fanny! Fanny! I knew it. I knew it as soon as I woke. Twice you’ve done it. My God, they’ll take you away, so they will. Oh, Fanny! Fanny! God’s creature, where are you? Oh my—my …’
    The policeman had gone. The door closed. The man climbed the stairs. He tripped on the landing, rushed into the wrong room, rushed out again. It never occurred to him to strike a match, to light lamp or candle. He dressed hurriedly in the darkness. He put his foot into the wrong leg of the trousers and had to put them on all over again. A ship’s siren sounded out over the river, a sound he had heard so many times that its full meaning had become exhausted in his ears. Now, hearing it suddenly, a swift stab of sound, and then lengthening, and spreading over the night air, it made him shiver. He would have laughed one time at shivering like this. He talked to himself, as he dashed from bed to chair, chair to table. This getting dressed, this clothing oneself, it was all bits and pieces. Then his lips were moving and no sound came at all. He dashed out of the room. He hurried downstairs. The silence and darkness frightened him a little. His own feet sounded like great boulders being flung from top to bottom of the stairs. He dashed along the lobby, opened the front door, and stepped out. ‘Oh dear! Fanny!’ He said this aloud as though she were at the street’s