While he thought, Brainard took off his shoes, tied them together by the laces, and slung them around his neck, as he had done as a boy, when he wished to make an early escape from the parental house. Then, placing his precious bag on his shoulders, he crept inch by inch toward the open window. It was hazardous, but it was his only chance. He was morally certain that he could not enter the hall without making sufficient noise to attract attention. When he reached the balcony, he listened. Not hearing any sound from the next room, he stepped out into the moonlight, and walked as rapidly as he could along the open balcony to the corner of the building, and around to the other side. He knew that the fight-trust man’s room was somewhere in the rear wing, and his plan was to make an exit through his room. But the balcony did not extend to this wing, and he was brought to a halt. He looked over the rail to the street, thinking to drop his bag and follow it as best he could. It was a good fifteen feet from the balcony to the hard pavement beneath. As Brainard debated the chances of breaking a leg, he saw approaching the spot the figure of a night officer on his rounds. Instinctively he drew back, felt for the nearest window, and pushed it open. He prayed that it might be an empty room; but he was no sooner within than he heard the loud snoring of a man. Perplexed, Brainard listened for a few moments, then quietly crossed to the bed. Feeling about over the night table, he secured the pistol that he suspected might lie there, then boldly struck a match. With a snort, the sleeper sat bolt upright. Luckily it was Calloway, the manager of the railroad. Brainard whispered tensely: “It’s all right, but don’t speak! There’s your gun—only don’t shoot!” “What’s the matter?” the Southerner demanded coolly, now wide awake. “You said,” Brainard whispered, “that there was always a time when a man might need charity. Well, I want your help. I have a bag here that contains valuable papers belonging to some other person. I’m trying to get them to a safe place, as I was told to. I haven’t stolen anything, you understand, but of course you won’t believe that. I’ve been followed here by some enemies of the man who owned the stuff. They’d kill me as quickly as they would a fly to get possession of this bag. If they can’t murder me, and take it that way, they will probably put me in prison to-morrow and keep me there. I must get out of town to-night!” “You can’t do that before to-morrow morning,” the Southerner replied, yawning, as if he wished Brainard would take himself off to bed and let him alone. “I must get out of this hotel now, to-night, and away from Jalapa, and not have a soul know where I’ve gone. I’ll pay you well for your trouble!” “Keep your money, my son,” the man answered gruffly. “It wasn’t for _that_ I had to come down here. But I’ll help you out, if you are in trouble.”