532 ANGEL PAVEMENT

As he arrived at this savage conclusion, he noticed foi
the first time that the three little glowing pillars of the
gas-fire were dwindling. They shrank rapidly, until they
were nothing but quivering blue blobs that shot up once
and popped, shot up again and popped, then popped out
altogether. No more gas. He hadn't a shilling, he had
only eightpence. He couldn't even commit suicide,
couldn't afford it.

After a short silence, an unusual sound, a most strange
sound, a fantastic and incredible sound, came from the
side of the bed and travelled round the dark little room.
It came from Turgis, and he may have been crying, he
may have been laughing, or doing both at once. He was
certainly not committing suicide.

He made a great deal of noise now. Putting out a
hand, quite instinctively, to the tap of the gas-fire, he
touched something hot in the darkness there, gave a
sharp cry and banged his hand on the floor. Then he
stumbled to the window, to pull out the paper, and
somehow the window stuck and he pushed so hard that
when it did open, the rotten old woodwork of the frame
partly gave way, and as it suddenly flew open and the
night air rushed in, there was a loud crack. The door
was noisier still. He was determined to get all the paper
away, but it was not easy and he was impatient, and he
began pulling away at the knob of the door until at last
the door suddenly swung in and he sat down with a
bump, the knob still in his hand. It was then that he
heard sounds from below, and saw through the open
door a light travelling jerkily upwards. The next minute
he was looking at the extraordinary figure of Mr.
Pelumpton, who was standing outside in his night-
shirt, holding a candle.