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.

Chapter Twenty-two

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.