Some sound of a drunken quarrel drew my attention to the north window, and I looked out into the alley. The lights from Montgomery Street scarcely gave shape to the gloom below the window, but I could distinguish three or four men near the side entrance of a saloon. They appeared quiet enough. The quarrel, if any there was, must be inside the saloon. After an interval of comparative silence, the noise rose again. There were shouts and curses, sounds as of a chair broken and tables upset, and one protesting, struggling inebriate was hurled out from the front door and left, with threats and foul language, to collect himself from the pavement. This edifying incident, which was explained to me solely by sound, had scarcely come to an end when a noise of creaking boards drew my eyes to the other window. The shutter suddenly flew around, and a human figure swung in at the open casing. Astonishment at this singular proceeding did not dull the instinct of self-defense. The survey of my surroundings and the incident of the bar-room row had in a measure prepared me for any desperate doings, and I had swung a chair ready to strike a blow before I had time to think. “S-h-h!” came the warning whisper, and I recognized my supposed robber. It was Henry. His clothes and hair were disordered, and his face and hands were grimy with dust. “Don't speak out loud,” he said in suppressed tones. “Wait till I fasten this shutter. The other one's gone, but nobody can get in from that side unless they can shin up thirty feet of brick wall.” “Shall I shut the window?” I asked, thoroughly impressed by his manner. “No, you'll make too much noise,” he said, stripping off his coat and vest. “Here, change clothes with me. Quick! It's a case of life and death. I must be out of here in two minutes. Do as I say, now. Don't ask questions. I'll tell you about it in a day or two. No, just the coat and vest. There--give me that collar and tie. Where's your hat?” The changes were completed, or rather his were, and he stood looking as much like me as could be imagined. “Don't stir from this room till I come back,” he whispered. “You can dress in anything of mine you like. I'll be in before twelve, or send a messenger if I'm not coming. By-by.” He was gone before I could say a word, and only an occasional creaking board told me of his progress down the stairs. He had evidently had some practice in getting about quietly. I could only wonder, as I closed and locked the door, whether it was the police or a private enemy that he was trying to avoid. I had small time to speculate on the possibilities, for outside the window I heard the single word, “Help!” The cry was half-smothered, and followed by a gurgling sound and noise as of a scuffle in the alley. I rushed to the window and looked out. A band of half a dozen men was struggling and pushing away from Montgomery Street into the darker end of the alley. They were nearly under the window. “Give it to him,” said a voice.