“Why, Mrs. Welles,” he exclaimed, “how can you say so?  If you aren’t Mrs. Welles, who are you?”

“Just as if you didn’t know!” she retorted scornfully.

“Well, perhaps,” he admitted.  “But never mind that now.  Do you know that you lost your bag of clippings?”

Her hand flew to her breast.  “Now, gracious me!  How could I?”

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” he soothed.  “I’ve got them all in my room.  You shall have them again.  Don’t you want to come down and get them?” He was cramped and chilled to the bone; moreover, the stars had paled, and a misty fog of floating, impalpable crystal was slowly crossing the oblong of sky left visible by the edifices on both sides of the alley.  He waited anxiously for her to reply, but she seemed lost in thought.  He looked at her closely.  She was asleep, her head resting against the blistered paneling of the door.  He shifted his position slightly, and gazed at the coming of the dawn.  Gradually the crystal white gave place to faintest violet, then flushed to rose color.  The details of the coping above them became sharply distinct.  Below them the canyon was full of blue shadow, but already the depths were becoming translucent.  He looked at his strange companion.  Should he wake her, he wondered.  Softly he tried the door.  It was locked from within.  If he allowed her to slumber in peace, she might, on awakening, be terrified at the visible depths below.  Now, all was vague in the blue canyon.

Very gently he pressed her hand and called her.  “Mrs. Welles.”

She awoke with such a violent start that for an agonized instant he felt his hold slipping.  He held her firmly, however, and steadied her with voice and hand.

“Let’s go indoors,” he said quite casually.  “You see if we sit here much longer, it’s growing light, and people will see us.  Then it won’t be easy for me to keep you hidden.  Now, if you’ll just turn about and let me go first, I’ll get you down quite easily and nobody the wiser for our outing.”

She looked at him for a moment as if puzzled, then her brow cleared.  “Very well, young man,” she said.  “I must have had a nap.  Now, how do you want me to turn?”

He showed her, and with his arms on the outside of the ladder, her body next the rungs—­as he had often seen the firemen make their rescues, he slowly steadied her to the landing below and assisted her in at the window.

With a sigh of relief he closed the window behind them and drew down the blinds.

“Now! that’s all right, Mrs. Mahr.  You’re quite safe.”

She turned on him her beady eyes and laughed her shrill chuckle.  “There, didn’t I tell you, you knew all the time?  I guess you’ll own up that it’s the wife who’s got the right to kill a husband, won’t you?”

“Sure,” he said.  “I’ll see that nobody else gets the credit, believe me!”

* * * * *

XIV