before him, flourishing his bludgeon.

"Git on! Git on!" he said. "There's no gittin' out of this until you've
served your time."

The words and the dark passage made Helena shiver. What if they would
not give her a chance to speak, but should lock her up at once? She knew
nothing of these dark doings of night. Perhaps the policeman would take
them directly to a cell. In that case, she must confide in him.

They entered a room, and her confidence returned. A man sat at a desk,
an open ledger before him. He was talking to several tramps who stood in
various uneasy attitudes in front of the desk. His face was tired, but
his eyes had a humourous twinkle. He did not glance at the new-comers.

"Sit down," commanded the policeman, "and wait your turn."

The girls sat down uncomfortably on the edge of a bench. In a moment
they noticed a young man sitting near the desk and writing on a small
pad of paper. He looked up, looked again, regarding them intently, then
rose and approached the policeman.

"Hello, Tim," he said. "What have you got here? A girl in boys'
clothes?"

"That's about the size of it."

Helena pulled her cap over her eyes and reddened to her hair. For the
first time she fully realised her position. She was Colonel Jack
Belmont's daughter, and she was waiting in the city prison as a common
vagrant. Magdalena bent her head, pulling the shawl more closely about
her face.

The young man looked them over sharply. "They are the kids of
somebodies," he said audibly. "Look at their hands. There's a 'story'
here."

Helena turned cold and set her teeth. She had no idea who the young man
might be, but instinct told her that he threatened exposure.

A few moments later the tramps had gone, and the man at the desk asked
the policeman what charge he preferred against his arrests.

"This one's a girl in boys' clothes, sir, and both, I take it, are
vagrants. The House of Correction is the place for 'em, I'm thinkin'."

Magdalena's head sank still lower, and she dug her nails into her palms
to keep from gasping. But Helena, in this crucial moment, was game. She
walked boldly forward and said authoritatively,--

"I wish to speak alone with you."

The sergeant recognised the great I AM of the American maiden; he also
recognised her social altitude. But he said, with what severity he could
muster,--

"If you have anything private to say, you can whisper it."

Helena stepped behind the desk and put her lips clo