“There’s more ways than front doors to get out of a house.  And there’s lights to put out up here too.”  He reached up and turned down the lamp-wick, then blew out the flame.  “Come,” he whispered, and led her into his room and locked the door.

He groped for the bed, tore off the sheets, twisted them tightly and knotted them together.  “There!” he said, and, taking a turn of it under her arms, let her down from the window into the alley.  Then he swept into his suit-case a few things from the dresser and snapped it, and dropped it out the window.

He was about to fasten one end of the twisted sheets about the bedpost, to let himself down; but hearing the door-knob slowly turning he did not finish the job.  He dropped the sheet, lowered himself by his hands from the window-sill and let go.  He landed without damage.

“Come,” he said, and led the way to the street.  At the first corner he turned.  At the next corner he turned.  At the third corner a cab was in sight.  He helped her in.

“Do you know,” Jan whispered to her, “a good hotel I could tell him to drive to?”

“With me looking as I am?  Why, no.  Tell him any hotel we can get into.”

Jan addressed the cabman.

“I want”—­he said it very distinctly, so that there could be no mistake—­“a good hotel to take a lady to.”

“A lady?  An’ a good hotel?  Sure thing.  Jump in.”

Jan got in and sat opposite to her.  She was restoring order to her hair.

“Did the cabby laugh?” she asked.

“No.  Why should he?”

“Why?” Jan saw that she was staring at him.  Suddenly her stare was transformed to a soft smile.  “Oh-h—­sometimes these cabbies think they’re funny.”

Presently the cab stopped.  Jan looked out.  It was a hotel, with a wide door and a narrow one.  The narrow door was marked “Ladies’ Entrance,” and through the transom a red light shone.

“Wait,” said Jan.

He went through the wide door to the desk.  “I want a room for a lady,” he said to the clerk.

“Lady?  Sure.  Four dollars.”

Jan paid the four dollars and registered.  The clerk touched a bell.  A boy bobbed up.

“I will bring her in by the ladies’ entrance,” said Jan; but in passing out to the street he caught a glimpse of a room across the hall—­a room with tables, and men and women at the tables, and drinks on the tables.  He halted for a longer look and went out to the cab finally with a troubled look.

“There’s a room for you, but”—­he took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair—­“I don’t think you ought to stay here.”  He had put his head inside the cab and was speaking low, so that the cabman should not hear.  “I don’t think it’s a nice place for a lady.”

“But”—­she almost smiled—­“I’m afraid we’ll have to put up with it.  Look!” She spread wide her rumpled skirt.  Her eyes rolled down to indicate her torn bodice.  With her fingertips she touched the bruises on her face and the marks on her neck.  “And I haven’t even a hat on,” she concluded with an undoubted smile.