Suddenly they were climbing up a narrow flight of
steps. They stood under the starlight in a back
yard, with houses about them on all sides.
“Go down that alley, and you will be on the
street,” said the girl. “Down that
alley, and then hurry—run—find
the first taxi. Will you do that?”
“We’ll sure go, and we’ll wait for
Caroline Smith—and you, too!”
“Don’t talk madness! Why will you
stay? You risk everything for yourselves and
for me!”
Jerry Smith was already tugging at Ronicky’s
arm to draw him away, but the Westerner was stubbornly
pressing back to the girl. He had her hand and
would not leave it.
“If you don’t show up, lady,” he
said, “I’ll come to find you. You
hear?”
“No, no!”
“I swear!”
“Bless you, but never venture near again.
But, oh, Ronicky Doone, I wish ten other men in the
whole world could be half so generous and wild as
you!” Suddenly her hand was slipped from his,
and she was gone into the shadows.
Down the alley went Jerry Smith, but he returned in
an agony of dread to find that Ronicky Doone was still
running here and there, in a blind confusion, probing
the shadowy corners of the yard in search of the girl.
“Come off, you wild man,” said Jerry.
“They’ll be on our heels any minute—they
may be waiting for us now, down the alley—come
off, idiot, quick!”
“If I thought they was a chance of finding her
I’d stay,” declared Ronicky, shaking his
head bitterly. “Whether you and me live,
don’t count beside a girl like that. Getting
soot on one tip of her finger might mean more’n
whether you or me die.”
“Maybe, maybe,” said the other, “but
answer that tomorrow; right now, let’s start
to make sure of ourselves, and we can come back to
find her later.”
Ronicky Doone, submitting partly to the force and
partly to the persuasion of his friend, turned reluctantly
and followed him down the alley.
Mark Makes a Move
Passing hurriedly out of the cloakroom, a little later,
Ruth met Simonds, the lieutenant of Frederic Fernand,
in the passage. He was a ratfaced little man,
with a furtive smile. Not an unpleasant smile,
but it was continually coming and going, as if he
wished earnestly to win the favor of the men before
him, but greatly doubted his ability to do so.
Ruth Tolliver, knowing his genius for the cards, knowing
his cold and unscrupulous soul, detested him heartily.
When she saw his eyes flicker up and down the hall
she hesitated. Obviously he wished to speak with
her, and obviously he did not wish to be seen in the
act. As she paused he stepped to her, his face
suddenly set with determination.
“Watch John Mark,” he whispered.
“Don’t trust him. He suspects everything!”
“What? Everything about what?” she
asked.
Simonds gazed at her for a moment with a singular
expression. There were conjoined cynicism, admiration,
doubt, and fear in his glance. But, instead of
speaking again, he bowed and slipped away into the
open hall.
