“Come quietly,” she whispered at length, putting warm lips to his ear.  Her hand dropped along his arm till she grasped his fingers.  She led him swiftly away from the place, having waited till the police should be so near that the noise they made would drown their own retreat.

On they went, then, as before, swishing through the foulness underfoot, and without speaking.  Only at times the woman’s hold on his hand would tighten, and, meeting with no response, would slacken again, and she would draw him on ever more quickly.

“Where are we going?” he ventured to ask.

“We are escaping,” she answered, with a brief tinkle of laughter.  “If you knew from what we are escaping, you would not care where.  But hurry, always!”

Soon, however, she paused, still holding his hand.  Again they heard footsteps, and this time the woman turned to him desperately.

“There is a door near by,” she breathed.  “We must find it, or——­” again the unspoken word.  “Feel always along the wall there.  Farther, go farther.  It should be here.”

They sprang on, with hands to the rough plaster on the wall, till Dawson encountered the door, set level with the wall, for which they sought.

“Push,” panted the woman, heaving at it with futile hands.  Even in the darkness he could see the gleam of her naked arms and shoulders.  “Push it in.”

Dawson laid his shoulder to it, his arms folded, and shoved desperately till his head buzzed.  As he eased up he heard the near feet of the menacing police again.

“You must push it in!” cried the woman.  “It is the only way.  If not—­”

“Here, catch hold of this,” said Dawson, and she found the bronze image in her hands.  “Let me come,” he said, and standing back a little, he flung his twelve stone of bone and muscle heavily on the door.  It creaked, and some fastening within broke and fell to the ground.

Once again he assaulted it, and it was open.  They passed rapidly within, and closed it behind them, and with the woman’s hand guiding, Dawson stumbled up a long, narrow, sloppy stair that gave on to the flat roof of the building.  Above them was sky again.  The rain had passed, and the frosty stars of Mozambique shone faintly.  He took a deep breath as he received the image from the hands of the woman.

“You hear them?” she said, and he listened with a shudder to the passing of the men below.

“But we must go on,” she said.  “We are not safe yet.  Over the wall to the next roof.  Come!”

They clambered over a low parapet, and dropped six feet to another level.  Dawson helped the woman up the opposite wall, and she sat reconnoitering on the top.

“Come quietly,” she warned him, and he clambered up beside her and looked down at the roof before them.  In a kind of tent persons appeared to be sleeping; their breath was plainly to be heard.

“You must walk like a rat,” she whispered, smiling, and lowered herself.  He followed.  She was crouching in the shadow of the wall, and drew him down beside her.  Somebody had ceased to sleep in the tent, and was gabbling drowsily, in a monotonous sing-song.