"Hey, cully! If youse wants t' make a git-away, go de other way an' down de back stairs. Youse kin slip around through de alley an' inter de street 'fore de cop comes. I heard what youse said and ye sounds honest, an' dat's more'n ye kin say fer a lot in dis joint. Quick, some one's comin' up de front stairs!" Then, before Ned could thank his unknown friend, the door was shut. Ned could hear Cassidy getting up from the chair on which he had seated himself to lace his shoes. There was not a moment to spare. Making no sound in his stocking feet, Ned hurried down the dark corridor, away from the front of the building. He had to trust almost entirely to feeling, as the gleam from the single lamp farther toward the front stairs did not penetrate thus far. He did not even know where the rear flight was, but trusted to luck to find them. With his hand stretched out in front of him, to avoid running into any obstructions he went on as fast as he could. Suddenly he turned a corner in the passage and saw a dim light. Then he observed a flight of stairs leading downward. He listened a moment. Behind him he could hear the tramp of heavy feet, and guessed that Bill had returned with the policeman. Ned hurried down the stairs. He stopped only long enough, when he reached the bottom, to put his shoes on, but did not lace them. He only tucked the ends of the strings into the tops so they would not dangle and trip him if he had to run. Then Ned stepped from the hallway into the dark and deserted street. Once more, though entirely innocent, he had been obliged to flee from officers of the law. "It's getting to be a habit with me," he said grimly, as he hurried along. What happened back in the lodging house he did not know and he cared less. That his flight would seem a confession of guilt he was sure; but what did it matter? It was cold and dark and cheerless in the streets. He was a night wanderer, with no place to go, and, as far as he knew, not a friend in the big city. "I guess I'll have to walk the streets all night," poor Ned thought. "I haven't much money left." He felt in the pocket of his overcoat, and counted the change. There was less than a dollar. "Have to take fifteen cent beds after this," he remarked to himself. "As for eating I guess I'll have to cut that out altogether." He walked through several thoroughfares. Not a soul did he meet save once as he passed a policeman the officer stared at him suspiciously. But Ned still had his good clothes with him, and his overcoat though crumpled from being used as a bed-spread, made him look decent enough to pass muster in the neighborhood where he was. "I think I'll find another lodging house and get a bed," he said to himself. "I must get a little rest if I am to look for work to-morrow."