planted, of course—a boarding house. I tell you that door's locked."
"Then how can I get to a front window?"
"You can't, Jim."
He tried to plan.
"Then how am I—"
A heavy step seemed to set the thick, brown air in lazy motion. It came from a nearby room. It approached. Garth glanced at the purple hangings, expecting them to part on one who would discipline without mercy his presumption.
"Jim! They've got you, and if they see me with you—"
She spread her arms.
"They know you're a detective. Your only hope is that they shouldn't suspect me. And I can't lose all I've done. Hit me, Jim."
"Nora!"
"Trust me," she begged, "and we've a chance. They mustn't doubt me. Hit me, Jim. Take hold of me. Clap your hand over my mouth. Quick!"
He drew back. He knew she was right, but he couldn't, all at once, bring himself to obey.
"I've my gun," he muttered.
"It's worthless."
The footsteps were nearer. They had persisted with a measured, an unhurried purpose. Garth drew his revolver. The curtains waved.
Suddenly Nora screamed. She flung herself upon him tigerishly.
"Jim!" she whispered. "Now!"
