Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. “And even then—” The conversation hung for a thoughtful moment. Having seen every precaution taken to ensure his safe custody, he departed, muttering to himself, "I shall yet live to see him hanged—I shall live to see him hanged. ” There was silence between them.
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