didn't gain too fast, then--then--A little cry of dismay came
with a new and terrifying thought. Quite apart from Rorke, some one else
might see her enter Gypsy Nan's! She strained her eyes in all directions
as she ran. There wasn't any one--she didn't see any one--only Rorke,
around the corner there, was bawling out at the top of his voice,
and--and...

She flung herself against Gypsy Nan's door, stumbled in, and, closing
it, heard Rorke just swinging around the corner. Had he seen her? She
didn't know. She was panting, gasping for her breath. It seemed as
though her lungs would burst. She held her hand tightly to her bosom as
she made for the stairs--she mustn't make any noise--they mustn't
hear her breathing like that--they--they mustn't hear her going up the
stairs.

How dark it was! If she could only see--so that she would be sure not
to stumble! She couldn't go fast now--she would make a noise if she did.
Stair after stair she climbed stealthily. Perhaps she was safe now--it
had taken her a long time to get up here to the second floor, and there
wasn't any sound yet from the street below.

And now she mounted the short, ladder-like steps to the attic, and,
feeling with her hand for the crack in the flooring under the partition,
reached in for the key. As her fingers closed upon it, she choked back
a cry. Some one had been here! A piece of paper was wrapped around the
key. What did it mean? What did all these strange, yes, sinister, things
that had happened to-night mean? How had Rorke known that a robbery was
to be committed at Skarbolov's? Who was that man who had effected her
escape, and who, she knew now, was no more drunk than she was? Fast,
quick, piling one upon the other, the questions raced through her mind.

She fought them back. There was no time for speculation now! There was
only one question that mattered: Was she safe?

She stood up, thrust the paper for safe-keeping into her bosom, and
unlocked the door. If--if Rorke did not know that she had entered this
house here, she could remain hidden for a few hours; it would give her
time to think, and...

It came this time, no strength of will would hold it back, a little
moan. The front door below had opened, a heavy footstep sounded in the
lower hall. She couldn't see, of course. But she knew. It was Rorke! She
heard him coming up the stairs.

And then, in a flash, it seemed, her brain responded to her despairing
cry. There was still a way--a desp