But you can keep your eye on her, and see she comes to
no harm."
Sergeant McKay saluted and hastened out of the courtyard. Mrs. Wilders
had already disappeared down Convent Lane, and was just turning into
the main street. McKay followed quickly, keeping her in sight.
It was evident that the best part of Gibraltar had no charms for Mrs.
Wilders; she did not want to look into the shop windows, such as they were;
nor did she pause to admire the architectural beauties of the Garrison
Library or other severely plain masterpieces of our military engineers. Her
course was towards the upper town, and she pressed on with quick,
unfaltering steps, as though she knew every inch of the ground.
Ten minutes' sharp walking, sometimes by steep lanes, sometimes up
long flights of stone steps, brought her to the upper road leading to
the Moorish castle. This was essentially a native quarter; Spanish was
the only language heard from the children who swarmed about the
doorways, or their slatternly mothers quarreling over their washtubs,
or combing out and cleansing, in a manner that will not bear
description, their children's hair. Spanish colour prevailed, and
Spanish smells.
Still pursuing her way without hesitation, Mrs. Wilders presently
turned up another steep alley bearing the historic name of "Red Hot
Shot Ramp," and paused opposite a gateway leading into a dirty
courtyard.
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