his trade, a whisper inaudible to ears a yard distant from those to which it was pitched, he addressed her in a manner at once peremptory and apologetic.
"If you please, Miss Bannon—not a word, not a whisper!"
She paused and nodded compliance, questioning eyes steadfast to his.
Doubtfully, wondering that she betrayed so little surprise, he pursued as one committed to a forlorn hope:
"It's vitally essential that I leave this hotel without it becoming known. If I may count on you to say nothing—"
She gave him reassurance with a small gesture. "But how?" she breathed in the least of whispers. "The concierge—!"
"Leave that to me—I know another way. I only need a chance—"
"Then won't you take me with you?"
"Eh?" he stammered, dashed.
Her hands moved toward him in a flutter of entreaty: "I too must leave unseen—I must! Take me with you—out of this place—and I promise you no one shall ever know—"
He lacked time to weigh the disadvantages inherent in her proposition; though she offered him a heavy handicap, he had no choice but to accept it without protest.
"Come, then," he told her—"and not a sound—"
She signified assent with another nod; and on this he turned to an adjacent door, opened it gently, whipped out his flash-lamp, and passed through. Without sign of hes-
