Part 11 (1/2)

'I don't know about me, but I'm inclined to think that there are others who would endeavour their little best to reach him thereabouts. Piccadilly at this time of night is hardly the place for a mysterious anyone to cut a figure to much advantage. I fancy there'd be ructions. Anyhow, I'd like to see him come.'

Mr. Boyle's tone was grim. His companion laughed; but before the sound of his laughter had long died out the speaker's wish was gratified.

All in an instant, without any sort of warning, there was one of those scenes which occur in Piccadilly on most nights of the week. A woman had been drinking; she was young, new to her trade, still unaccustomed to the misuse of stimulants. She made a noise. A female acquaintance endeavoured to induce her to go away; in vain. The girl, pulling up her skirts, began to dance and shout, and to behave like a virago, among the throng of loiterers who were peopling the pavement. A man made some chaffing remark to her. She flew at him like a tiger-cat. Directly there was an uproar. There are times and seasons when it requires but a very little thing to transform those midnight Saturnalia into chaos. The police hurled themselves into the struggling throng, making captives of practically everyone on whom they could lay their hands.

The crowd was in uncomfortable proximity to Mr. Grey and his friend.

It swayed in their direction.

'We'd better clear out of this, Boyle, before there's an ugly rush comes our way. Let's get across the road. I'm in no humour for skittles to-night, if you don't mind.'

The speaker glanced smilingly towards the seething throng. It was the humorous side of the thing which appealed to him; he had seen it so often before. Boyle diverted his attention.

'Hollo! who's this?'

Someone stepped from the roadway on to the pavement, moving quickly, yet lightly, so that there was about His actions no appearance of haste. He held His hands a little raised. People made way to let Him pa.s.s, as if they knew that He was coming, even though He approached them in silence from behind.

'It's Christ!'

The exclamation was Grey's reply to his friend's query. Boyle, starting, turned to stare at him.

'Grey, what do you mean?'

'It's Christ! Don't you know Christ when you see him? It's the mysterious stranger! Why don't you go and lay fast hold on him?'

Boyle stared at his friend in silence. There was that in his manner which was disconcerting--an obsession. The fas.h.i.+on of his face was changed; a new light was in his eyes. The big man seemed half amused, half startled. As he stood and listened and watched, his amus.e.m.e.nt diminished, his appearance of being startled grew.

The crowd had given way before the Stranger, making a lane through which He had pa.s.sed to its midst; and it was silent. The vehicles rumbled along the road; from the other side of the street the voices of newsboys a.s.sailed the air; pedestrians went ceaselessly to and fro; but there, where the noise had just been greatest, all was still--a strange calm had come on the excited throng.

There were there all sorts and conditions of men and women that had fallen away from virtue. There were men of all ages, from white haired to beardless boys; from those who had drained the cup of vice to its uttermost dregs, yet still clutched with frantic, trembling fingers at the empty goblet, to those who had just begun to peep over its edge, and to feast their eyes on its fulness to the brim. There were men of all stations, from old and young rakes of fortune and family to struggling clerks, shop-a.s.sistants, office-boys, and those creatures of the gutter who rake the kennels for offal with which to fill their bellies. Among the women there was the same diversity.

They were of all nations--English, French, German, and the rest; of all ages--grandmothers and girls who had not yet attained to the age of womanhood. There were some of birth and breeding, and there were daughters of the slums, heritors of their mothers' foulness. There were the comparatively affluent, and there were those who had gone all day hungry, and who still looked for a stroke of fortune to gain for them a night's lodging. But they all were the same; they all had painted faces, and they all were decked in silks and satins or such other tawdry splendour as by any crooked means they could lay their hands on which would serve to advertise their trade.

And in the midst of this a.s.semblage of the dregs of humanity the Stranger stood; and He put to them the question which was to become familiar ere long to not a few of the people of the city:

'What is it you would do?'

They returned no answer; instead, they looked at Him askance, doubt, hesitancy, surprise, wonder, awe, revealing themselves in varying degrees upon their faces as they were seen beneath the paint.

Two policemen had in custody the young woman who had been the original cause of disturbance. Each held her by an arm. The Stranger turned to them.

'Loose her.'

Without an attempt at remonstrance they did as He bade. They took their hands from off her and set her free. She stood before them, seeming ashamed and sobered, with downcast face, seeking the pavement with her eyes. But all at once, as if she could not bear the silence any longer, she raised her head and met His glance, asking:

'Who are you?'

'Do you not know Me?'

'Know you?'