Neither of them believed me. At nine o'clock, the sheriffs arrived, followed by their officers and javelin-men. There was a discreet knocking at the door, and Ramage’s face changed. Ramage stood up, and suddenly turned the key in the door in an off-hand manner. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. We were fellow passengers from Charing Cross, and we have been fellow lodgers in the Rue d’Entrepot.
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