The light fell slanting across the stone steps in front, and revealed a narrow opening through the brick coping beyond.  I must pass that way in reaching the street, but hesitated to go forward boldly.  I could see only a few feet in any direction, as the fog was thickening, driving along the soaked pavement in dense gray clouds, already beginning to blot from view the houses opposite.  Another trolley-car, dismally clanging its gong, paused a moment at some near-by corner, and then passed noisily on.  The way seemed clear, the street utterly deserted, and, nerving myself to the effort, I crept cautiously forward, until I crouched behind the brick coping.  There was not a disturbing sound, and I straightened up, essaying the first quick step forth into the full gleam of the light.  Like some confronting ghost, scarcely more real than a phantom of imagination, I came face to face with a woman.

She had turned swiftly into the narrow gateway leading through the brick coping, hurrying silently as if pursued, her foot barely planted upon the step when we met.  I stopped, speechless, rigid, my outstretched hand gripping the rail, but the woman drew hastily back, her lips parted in a sudden sob of surprise, one hand flung out as if in self-protection.  It was instantaneous, yet before either could move otherwise, or utter a word of explanation, a heavy footfall crunched along the walk, and a burly police officer, his star gleaming ominously in the dull light, rounded the corner a dozen feet away.  Neither of us stirred, staring into each other’s bewildered faces, and before either fully realized the situation, the strong, suspicious hand of the law had gripped my shoulder.

“Here, now, an’ what the hell are ye oop too, me fine buck?” he questioned roughly, swinging me about into the light.  “Give an account o’ yer-self moighty quick, ’er I ’ll run ye in.”

Startled, recalling the money hidden in my pocket, the last injunction of Neale, I could think of no excuse, no explanation.  The girl, still staring blankly at me, must have perceived how I instinctively shrank back, my lips moving in an impotent effort at speech.  Some sudden impulse changed her fright into sympathy.  However it was the officer who impatiently broke the silence, swinging his night stick menacingly: 

“Come on now, me lad, hav’ ye lost yer voice entoirely?  Spake oop loively—­whut ther hell are the two ov’ yer oop to, onyhow?”

She started forward, just a step.

“Nothing in the least wrong, officer,” her voice trembling slightly, yet sounding clearly distinct.  “He—­he was merely accompanying me home from a dance.”

“Whut dance?”

“Over—­over there on 43rd Street.”

“An’ do yer live here?” the gruff tone still vibrant with suspicion.  “Fer if ye do, yer ’re sure a new gurl,” and he peered at her shadowed face in the dim light.  She drew in her breath sharply.