Someone bounded up the stairs, which groaned from the strain, unmistakably Mike. She could learn nothing of her son, and only obtained one solitary piece of information, which added to, rather than alleviated her misery,—namely, that Jonathan Wild had paid a secret visit to the Cross Shovels. A woman touched him lightly on the arm, and smiled into his face. They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals. The twists in his brain had suddenly straightened out; he was normal, wholly himself; and he knew now exactly what he had done. When she spoke, her lips twitched. And yet, when you offered to help, it was what is to come that I had in mind.
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