"Wasn't there a bed in that room?" she asked.

"Slip off your coat; she will be all right on the floor for a minute."

Lady took off the long coat and spread it upon the boards, taking Sheila's hand in her lap as I laid her down upon it. I raised the little window, and looked down into the street. The car stood there, its lights glaring monstrously down the empty street.

"Hi!" I called. "You chauffeur! Leave the car and come up here."

Below, a figure detached itself from the shadow of the car. "What, sir?"

he shouted up.

"Come up here; we want you."

The man did not answer, and turned back to his car. I watched him angrily, but after a moment he crossed the sidewalk and disappeared in the hall doorway.

"I wouldn't blame her husband too surely," I said, as I turned from the window. "I think the man who struck her was an Italian."

Lady started. "What makes you think so?" she asked in a whisper.

I shook my head, but did not answer.

"Never mind," said Lady, "but you are right. Her husband is an Italian."

It was my turn to start. "What?" I cried. "Was he by any chance also a sailor?"

She nodded, frightened eyes upon me. And I wondered what it was all about, for the man lying upon the bed in the inner room was the man whom I had seen at the inn bar, the man who had threatened her father, the man to whom her--her husband had given money.

I met the chauffeur in the hall, puffing and evidently disgusted.

"A very low quarter, sir. I was afraid for my life below; and this is a dirty, bad-smelling 'ouse, sir."

"Well," I said, "there is a woman who is sick in here, and Miss Tabor has come to take her away in the car. You are to help me to carry her down."

He sniffed dolefully, and I opened the door, closing it quickly behind him.

"Mrs. Carucci has been hurt," said Miss Tabor. "You are to help Mr.

Crosby carry her down to the car."

The man stared at the woman on the floor. "Hurt?" he cried. "Mr. Crosby said she was ill." He glanced about the clean little room, disordered by the violence that had pa.s.sed, and shrank back against the wall, white and staring.

"What's that?" He pointed to the dark stain near the door.

"That," I answered lightly, "is none of your business. Suppose you take her feet."

The man turned a sick green. "It's blood," he whispered. "It's murder."

"Nonsense, man; the woman is alive. She fell and hurt her head, that's all. At any rate, we are going to take her where she can be cared for.

Take her feet. We ought not to leave the car too long."

The fellow shook his head.

"She is dead," he repeated sullenly. "There has been murder done. I'll have nothing to do with it."

Miss Tabor broke in: "Thomas, you heard what Mr. Crosby said. You are to help him this instant."

"I am not," he said. "I have done more and seen more than a decent man should, already. A fine district this is for this hour of the night, with cut-throats asleep in the street and a dead woman lying above. I give notice now, and I go now."

"You'll do nothing of the kind," I retorted. "Have you no loyalty?"

"I am as honest as the next," he answered, "too honest, or I should have gone a month ago. 'Tis no place for a decent, quiet man, what with a fly-by-night sawbones living in my garage, and all sorts of strange folks going and coming at the house, and calls at all hours, and Lord knows what going on. 'Tis no decent place. I'm through right now! For the love of G.o.d, what's that?"

The sound had startled us all, and it was repeated--a sound betwixt a groan and a growl. I glanced toward the door of the inner room.

"My G.o.d!" cried Thomas. "There's another of them!" He started across the room, but I was before him. I turned the key in the door, and placed my back against it. From within the growls came with greater frequency. The chauffeur stood before me, shaking with the anger of terror.

"Very well," I said, "you go down to your car and start the engine. I will carry the woman down without you."

The man hesitated.

"Go!" I cried, and took a step forward. He whimpered out an oath, and turning, clattered down the stairs as if the devil were after him. I turned to find Lady on her feet, staring at the closed door.

"Carucci?" she whispered.

I nodded, and went over to take up the woman.

"Wait a minute," cried Lady. "We can't leave the bird loose. She thinks everything of him."

Somehow I did not laugh. "Very well," I said, "but be quick," and even as I spoke there came a muttering of Italian; the bed creaked, the feet came heavily to the floor. Lady stretched out her hand for the bird, but it fluttered off frightened to the geranium plants. A thud came against the locked door, and another drunken mutter of Italian. But now Lady had the bird safe, and I latched the cage top to its flooring, and held open the door for her capture.

"You carry it," I said. "I'll take the woman."

We were just in time; for Carucci began to realize that he was locked in, and the door shook under his fury. It was a weak-looking door at best, and as we left the room, a lower panel splintered. We fairly ran down-stairs, fearful every moment that the door would not hold long enough; for the whole building seemed to vibrate with the savage uproar above. Here and there, as we turned down the dark hall, doors opened, and frightened faces, dull with sleep, looked out.

Once in the street, I pushed hurriedly through the knot of roughs that had gathered peering and jeering around the car, and tore open the door.

"Quick! Get in!" I cried. Lady slipped past me and up the step.

"Give her to me," she said.

I put the woman in gently upon the seat, where Lady held her close. Then I turned to the chauffeur in a fury, for the engine was not running. He was fumbling at the dash, while the onlookers jostled about him. I shook him angrily.

"Start it, you fool!" I growled.

He shrank away from me. "I'm through, I told you. I'll have nothing to do with mur--" I slapped the word short with a swing of my open hand across his mouth. Without a word he turned and elbowed his way through the press behind us. I caught him by the arm.

"Give me that plug," I said, twisting it from his hand. And as I jammed it into its socket, I heard Lady's voice at my shoulder. She was standing on the curb, one hand upon the open door of the car.

"Can't you make it go?"

"It's all right," I shouted, reaching for the spark, "get inside!" and the engine started with a snort and a howl. The crowd had begun to mutter threateningly, and as I sprang for the other side of the car they jostled me back.