ow which
way to turn; but she did know, with all the certainty of a
dauntless will, that she would turn some way--and that it
would not be a way leading back to the marshes and caves of
the underworld. She wandered--she wandered aimlessly; but not
for an instant did she cease to keep watch for the right
direction--the direction that would be the best available in
the circumstances. She did not know or greatly care which way
it led, so long as it did not lead back whence she had come.

In all her excursions she had--not consciously but by
instinct--kept away from her old beat. Indeed, except in the
company of Spenser or Sperry she had never ventured into the
neighborhood of Long Acre. But one day she was deflected by
chance at the Forty-second Street corner of Fifth Avenue and
drifted westward, pausing at each book stall to stare at the
titles of the bargain offerings in literature. As she stood
at one of these stalls near Sixth Avenue, she became conscious
that two men were pressing against her, one on either side.
She moved back and started on her way. One of the men was
standing before her. She lifted her eyes, was looking into
the cruel smiling eyes of a man with a big black mustache and
the jaws of a prizefighter. His smile broadened.

"I thought it was you, Queenie," said he. "Delighted to see you."

She recognized him as a fly cop who had been one of Freddie
Palmer's handy men. She fell back a step and the other
man--she knew him instantly as also a policeman--lined up
beside him of the black mustache. Both men were laughing.

"We've been on the lookout for you a long time, Queenie," said
the other. "There's a friend of yours that wants to see you
mighty bad."

Susan glanced from one to the other, her face pale but calm,
in contrast to her heart where was all the fear and horror of
the police which long and savage experience had bred. She
turned away without speaking and started toward Sixth Avenue.

"Now, what d'ye think of that?" said Black Mustache to his
"side kick." "I thought she was too much of a lady to cut an
old friend. Guess we'd better run her in, Pete."

"That's right," assented Pete. "Then we can keep her safe
till F. P. can get the hooks on her."

Black Mustache laughed, laid his hand on her arm. "You'll
come along quietly," said he. "You don't want to make a
scene. You always was a perfect lady."

She drew her arm away. "I am a married woman--living with
my husban