‘You’ll have to come up, Ed,’ it croaked. ‘She’s got us where she wants us. Who’s that you’ve got with you?’

Without a word Froulish shambled into the building and began to climb the ladder which led to the upper floor. Charles, tense with excitement, followed. Before he was half-way up the ladder he had occasion to wish that he had been cautious and allowed Froulish to get right up before beginning to climb, for the storm of abuse that broke round the latter’s head as soon as he poked it up above floor level was so intense that for a dizzy instant it seemed likely that he would release the ladder and slide down helplessly. However, after a short and perilous pause, he dragged himself up the remaining rungs and stood safely within the room. Charles would have followed, but the sight that greeted him when his head cleared the floorboards was such as to freeze him to the ladder.

The room was large, occupying about half the length of the shed. Three windows illuminated one wall, and, since they lacked several panes, ventilated it also. In one corner was a large old-fashioned bed, evidently picked up in a junk shop; it was heaped with clothes and, for some reason, piles of newspaper. In another corner was a stove, and beside it a rough shelf holding saucepans, a few plates and cups, and some tins of food. Between the two biggest windows, in what was evidently the place of honour, stood the only solid piece of furniture in the room—a substantial oak table, with two drawers underneath it. On it was a typewriter half concealed by a mass of papers. The litter that cluttered the rest of the room was pushed carefully away from this shrine. Charles felt a surge almost of awe. This was the dwelling of a dedicated man.

At the moment the dedicated man was shrinking back against his table feebly trying to fend off the old vixen who owned this palace. She had grasped him by both lapels, and, with her wizened face almost touching his fat, damp one, was squalling her refrain.

‘Not another hour! Not—another—HOUR do you stay in this’—she could hardly say ‘house’—‘do you stay ’ere without paying my rent. Two weeks overdue! You may have yer ’ead full of fine ideas, you may be able to live on air and big talk, but the rest of us ’ave to pay our way—and pay it with MONEY!’