She looked at him questioningly. «Don't worry,» said he. «I been man enough. Here, I'm going to wrap you up. When I've got you dressed, of course.»

Albert dressed Eva. That was no difficult task. He wrapped the grey-white paper about her, leaving a chink for light and air to come through. Then he set himself to wait for the striking of eight o'clock. In the long interval he was as still as Eva was. He dared not move, nor think, nor scarcely breathe even; he sat holding a tourniquet on his courage, which had already begun to ebb away. He did not hear seven o'clock strike at all, or the clashing of the scrub-women's pails, or the drone of the vacuum cleaners; he heard only one bronzy reverberation, and knew it for the last stroke of eight.

He picked Eva up and ran down the back stairs, out to where a raw service-lift clanked him down into the goods yard, whence, without stopping, he walked straight out, holding up his form to the indifferent custodian. «Special delivery,» he said. «Got to get a cab.»

Albert looked around: he was in the street. «Oh, good heavens!» he said. «What have I done?» People were looking at him, only waiting a split second before they knew and would begin to hound him down. He forgot all about the cab; all his thought and will were concentrated on the single effort of keeping himself from breaking into a run.

Automatically, he took the way to his lodgings. Four times he saw a policeman in the distance, and walked step by leaden step under the awful eyes till he drew abreast of him, crossed the razor edge between brazen approach and guilt-proclaiming flight, felt the eyes on his back, and waited for the shout.

He passed a knot of children on their way to school. «Look what he's got!» they cried. «Hi, Crippen!»

He had had no lunch, no supper, no breakfast, no sleep. The morning sun was already sultry. Eva, whom he could carry like a baron or a brigand when he was in the shop, now became an insupportable weight. He ached in every joint, his knees gave, his head swam; every one of the thousands in the streets was a pursuer: never was creature so universally hunted, nor moved so pitiably slow.

He turned at last into the mean street where he lived. He stumbled into the smelly passage. His landlady, who had spied him from the basement window, now called to him up the kitchen stairs. «Is that you, Mr. Baker?» cried she.

Albert stopped dead. His room was two floors above, but he could already see it as if he were in the doorway: its dimness, its frowsiness, its promise of a few hours' safety with Eva. He had thought of nothing beyond that. All he wanted was just a few hours in that room. He had gone through the hellish streets for that, and now, from the tone of his landlady's voice, he knew he would never see his room again. He began to cry.

«Yes, it's me, Mrs. Budgen,» he said haltingly, using the breaths between his sobs.

«Mr. Baker, there's been inquiries,» shouted the landlady. «Looked like the plain-clothes to me. I'd like a word, now. I —»

«All right, Mrs. Budgen,» said Albert. «I'll be down in half a tick. Just got to go to the W.C.»

He allowed himself a few seconds to breathe, then took up Eva again, and crept out of the front door and into the hideous street. He reached the corner, and saw Praed Street with its taxi-cabs. «Got to take a cab,» he said aloud, as if he were still addressing the man in the goods yard. «I dunno where I'm going.»

«Hi!» called Albert to a passing taxi. It went on unheeding. «Hi!» he called. «Stop, won't you? Are you mad?» He actually galvanized his bending knees into a pitiable stagger, and overtook the taxi a few yards on, where it had stopped at a crossing. The driver looked at him as he panted alongside.

«Here you are,» said Albert, staring at the delivery slip he had held all this time in his hand. «Pinckney, 14 Mulberry Grove, Hampstead.»

«O.K.» said the driver. Albert fell into the cab, and they were off.

Albert held Eva propped against him, and closed his eyes. A jerk, such as the dead will feel on the last day, recalled him to his sense. There was sunlight, altogether unlike the menacing glare in the loud streets: it was filtered through the leaves of lime trees. There was a heavenly quiet, a green iron gate, a gravel drive, a smiling house-front, peaceful, prosperous, and not unfriendly.

Albert stood in a wide porch, with his arm round Eva. A soft-faced man, in blue serge trousers and waistcoat stood in the doorway. «Never 'eard of a tradesman's entrance?» said he mildly.

«This 'ere's special,» said Albert, holding out his slip.

«Well, you've come wrong,» said the man. «Mr. Pinckney's down at the Hall. Two Rivers Hall, Baddingly, Suffolk. They ought to have known at the shop. You take it back quick.»

«Wanted very special,» murmured Albert in despair, proffering his slip.

The man weighed up the situation for a moment. «Hand it over,» said he. «The chauffeur's going down. He'll take it.»

«He'll take me, too,» said Albert. «This is special.»

«All right,» said the man. «You'll have to get back by yourself though.»

«Don't you worry about me,» said Albert.

There followed another dream, with Albert sitting in the back of a large touring car, Eva beside him, and the wrapping dislodged a little so that she could get the fresh air and see the fields go by. Not a word was said. Albert ceased trying to fit things together in his brain. He wished the drive would go on for ever, but, since it had to end, he was glad that it ended at a quiet house, standing on a gentle Suffolk knoll, surrounded by red walls and green gardens, full of the shade of senior trees.

«The master's in the studio,» said an old woman to the chauffeur.

«You come along with me,» said the chauffeur to Albert.

Albert followed with his precious burden into a cobbled stable yard. The chauffeur knocked at a door. «Young man from Rudd & Agnew's. Special delivery,» said he.

«What's that?» said a voice. «Send him in.»

Albert found himself in a giant room. It was a loft and stable knocked into one, with a vast cool window all down one side. A large canvas stood on an easel; there were hundreds of brushes, several palettes, boxes of colours. On a cane sofa was a young man reclining in great comfort, reading a thriller.

This young man looked up at Albert. He was a true monkeyface, hideously ugly, with a quick brown eye, hair fallen over his forehead; cotton jersey, beach trousers, straw shoes, and a pipe. «Well, what is it?» said he.

«I've brought —» said Albert. «I've brought — I've brought this.» He pulled aside a little more of the wrapping.

«I didn't order anything of this sort,» said the young man. «You've brought her to the wrong place.»

«Here it is,» said Albert, offering his slip. «Written down.»

«I don't use that sort of model,» said the young man. «Might be an idea, though. However, you ask them to give you some beer in the kitchen, and then take her back.»

«No,» said Albert. He began to shake and tremble. He stared at Mr. Pinckney with a rabbit desperation. Mr. Pinckney stared back at him. «What is all this?» said he.

«Mister,» said Albert, «have you ever been in love?»

«We won't discuss that,» said the ugly young man.

«If you don't know, it's no good me talking, »said Albert. «All right, I'll get out. Come on, Eva. I can't help it. We got to get out.»

«Wait a little,» said Mr. Pinckney. «Take it easy. Tell me all about it. I shall understand.»

«It's like this,» said Albert, and told, very strangely, his strange story.

«You are quite mad,» said Pinckney at the end of it.

«So they say,» said Albert. «I'm a human being, ain't I? I could be happy.»

«I like your philosophy,» said Pinckney. «Mad but happy.»