They had arrived at the stairs. Aaron stumbled up.
"Steady now! Steady does it!" said the policeman, steering his charge. There was a curious breach of distance between Lilly and the constable.
At last Lilly opened his own door. The room was pleasant. The fire burned warm, the piano stood open, the sofa was untidy with cushions and papers. Books and papers covered the big writing desk. Beyond the screen made by the bookshelves and the piano were two beds, with washstand by one of the large windows, the one through which Lilly had climbed.
The policeman looked round curiously.
"More cosy here than in the lock-up, sir!" he said.
Lilly laughed. He was hastily clearing the sofa.
"Sit on the sofa, Sisson," he said.
The policeman lowered his charge, with a—
"Right we are, then!"
Lilly felt in his pocket, and gave the policeman half a crown. But he was watching Aaron, who sat stupidly on the sofa, very pale and semi-conscious.
"Do you feel ill, Sisson?" he said sharply.
Aaron looked back at him with heavy eyes, and shook his head slightly.
"I believe you are," said Lilly, taking his hand.
"Might be a bit o' this flu, you know," said the policeman.
"Yes," said Lilly. "Where is there a doctor?" he added, on reflection.
"The nearest?" said the policeman. And he told him. "Leave a message for you. Sir?"
Lilly wrote his address on a card, then changed his mind.
"No, I'll run round myself if necessary," he said.
And the policeman departed.
"You'll go to bed, won't you?" said Lilly to Aaron, when the door was shut. Aaron shook his head sulkily.
"I would if I were you. You can stay here till you're all right. I'm alone, so it doesn't matter."
But Aaron had relapsed into semi-consciousness. Lilly put the big kettle on the gas stove, the little kettle on the fire.
