Up and down they passed, to and fro, looking and gliding
like sheeted ghosts; now dodging policemen, now accosting them
familiarly.
"Hello, Elise," growled one big blue-coat.
"Hello, Jack."
"What's this?" and he peered at Mrs. Cresswell, who shrank back.
"Friend of mine. All right."
A horror crept over Mary Cresswell: where had she lived that she had
seen so little before? What was Washington, and what was this fine,
tall, quiet residence? Was this--"Nell's"?
"Yes, this is it--good-bye--I must--"
"Wait--what is your name?"
"I haven't any name," answered the woman suspiciously.
"Well--pardon me! Here!" and she thrust a bill into the woman's hand.
The girl stared. "Well, you're a queer one! Thanks. Guess I'll turn in."
Mary Cresswell turned to see her husband and his companions ascending
the steps of the quiet mansion. She stood uncertainly and looked at the
opening and closing door. Then a policeman came by and looked at her.
"Come, move on," he brusquely ordered. Her vacillation promptly
vanished, and she resolutely mounted the steps. She put out her hand to
ring, but the door flew silently open and a man-servant stood looking at
her.
"I have some friends here," she said, speaking coarsely.
"You will have to be introduced," said the man. She hesitated and
started to turn away.
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