owner of the whistle, a young man, fashionably dressed, decidedly unsteady on his legs, and just opposite the door as they came out, had stopped both his whistle and his progress along the street to stare at them owlishly.
"'Ullo !" said the young man thickly. "What'sh all this about—eh? What'sh you two doing in that place this time of night—eh?"
"Beat it!" ordered Rough Rorke curtly.
"That'sh all right." The young man came nearer. He balanced himself with difficulty, but upon him there appeared to have descended suddenly a vast dignity. "I'm—hic—law-'biding citizen. Gotta know. Gotta show me. Damn funny—coming out of there this time of night! Eh—what'sh the idea?"
Rough Rorke, with his free hand, grabbed the young man by the shoulder angrily.
"Mind your own business, or you'll get into trouble!" he rasped out. "I'm an officer, and this woman is under arrest. Beat it! D'ye hear? Beat it—or I'll run you in, too!"
"Is that'sh so!" The young man's tones expressed a fuddled defiance. He rocked on his feet, and stared from one to the other, "Shay, is that'sh so! You will—eh? Gotta show me. How do I know you're—hic—officer? Eh? More likely damned thief yourself! I"
The young man lurched suddenly and violently forward, breaking Rough Rorke's grip on Rhoda Gray—and, as his arms swept out to grasp at the detective in an apparently wild effort to preserve his balance, Rhoda Gray felt a quick, significant push upon her shoulder.
For the space of time it takes a watch to tick she stood startled and amazed, and then, like a flash, she
