Birchill was sitting in a corner of the room, with his
feet on another chair, smoking a pipe. 'Come in, No. 21,' he says, with
an unpleasant smile, 'come in and see an old friend. Put a chair for him,
Doris, and leave the room.'
"The girl did so, and as soon as the door was closed behind her Birchill
turned round to me and burst out, 'Hill, that damned employer of yours
has served me a nasty trick, but I'm going to get even with him, and
you're going to help me!' I was taken back at his words, but I wanted to
hear more before I spoke. Then he told me that the young woman I had seen
had been brutally treated by Sir Horace. She had been living in a little
flat in Westminster on a monthly allowance which Sir Horace made her, but
he'd suddenly cut off her allowance and she'd have to be turned out in
the street to starve because she couldn't pay her rent. 'A nice thing,'
said Birchill fiercely, 'for this high-placed loose liver to carry on
like this with a poor innocent girl whose only fault was that she loved
him too well. If I could show him up and pull him down, I would. But I've
done time, like you, Hill. He was the judge who sentenced me, and if I
tried to injure him that way my word would carry no weight; but I'll put
up a job on him that'll make him sorry the longest day he lives, and
you'll help me.
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