As they reached the little restaurant, which was in a basement, Bridge motioned Billy down ahead of him.  Just for an instant he, himself, paused at the head of the stairs and looked about.  As he did so a man stepped from the shadow of a doorway upon the opposite side of the street.

If Bridge saw him he apparently gave no sign, for he turned slowly and with deliberate steps followed Billy down into the eating-place.

CHAPTER IV

ON THE TRAIL

As they entered the place Billy, who was ahead, sought a table; but as he was about to hang up his cap and seat himself Bridge touched his elbow.

“Let’s go to the washroom and clean up a bit,” he said, in a voice that might be heard by those nearest.

“Why, we just washed before we left our room,” expostulated Billy.

“Shut up and follow me,” Bridge whispered into his ear.

Immediately Billy was all suspicion.  His hand flew to the pocket in which the gun of the deputy sheriff still rested.  They would never take him alive, of that Billy was positive.  He wouldn’t go back to life imprisonment, not after he had tasted the sweet freedom of the wide spaces—­such a freedom as the trammeled city cannot offer.

Bridge saw the movement.

“Cut it,” he whispered, “and follow me, as I tell you.  I just saw a Chicago dick across the street.  He may not have seen you, but it looked almighty like it.  He’ll be down here in about two seconds now.  Come on—­we’ll beat it through the rear—­I know the way.”

Billy Byrne heaved a great sigh of relief.  Suddenly he was almost reconciled to the thought of capture, for in the instant he had realized that it had not been so much his freedom that he had dreaded to lose as his faith in the companion in whom he had believed.

Without sign of haste the two walked the length of the room and disappeared through the doorway leading into the washroom.  Before them was a window opening upon a squalid back yard.  The building stood upon a hillside, so that while the entrance to the eating-place was below the level of the street in front, its rear was flush with the ground.

Bridge motioned Billy to climb through the window while he shot the bolt upon the inside of the door leading back into the restaurant.  A moment later he followed the fugitive, and then took the lead.

Down narrow, dirty alleys, and through litter-piled back yards he made his way, while Billy followed at his heels.  Dusk was gathering, and before they had gone far darkness came.

They neither paused nor spoke until they had left the business portion of the city behind and were well out of the zone of bright lights.  Bridge was the first to break the silence.

“I suppose you wonder how I knew,” he said.

“No,” replied Billy.  “I seen that clipping you got in your pocket—­it fell out on the floor when you took your coat off in the room this afternoon to go and wash.”