"The police!" she gasped. "Outside in the street!" They didn't require her warning. The house was filled with the sound of a pounding on the big doors. A peremptory voice demanded admittance. "They know we're inside," gasped the girl. "They saw me as I opened the door to go out." Instantly the house was in confusion. The negro dropped Greg on the floor. All thought of their intentions towards him was forgotten. Those above came scampering down the stairs. De Socotra was the only one who retained his presence of mind. "Keep cool!" he admonished them. "The door is strong. We have time to get out. Get your hats and coats. Abanez, you know the way; lead the others. I will come last." Grabbing up their outer wear they fled as softly as mice through the door into the corridor. The negro Milio, leaving with the rest, was sharply recalled by de Socotra. "Take this man with you," he commanded. "Do you want to leave him behind to identify us all?" Very unwillingly the negro picked up Greg again and followed the others out into the corridor. De Socotra put out all lights and brought up the rear. They turned to the right in the corridor, that is to say, towards the rear of the lot. Through a covered way at the back they gained another building, presumably the original stable of the establishment. As the stable door closed behind them, Greg heard the blows of a heavy piece of timber on the front doors. De Socotra locked the doors that they passed through. In the back wall of the stable there was a door which admitted them to still another building, a rear tenement apparently on the lot abutting behind. It was empty. They then crossed a narrow paved court, and struck through a long close passage. The lights of a street gleamed at the far end; a trolley car rumbled in the distance--inexpressibly friendly sound to the prisoner. At the mouth of the passage the fugitives all clung together, apparently afraid to venture out into the lighted street. De Socotra coming up with them commanded: "Do not linger here. There is no one in sight. Scatter in different directions. Do not run. You are safe enough. There is nothing to connect you with the Ninth Street house. Go! You will hear from me in due course." They melted away, leaving only de Socotra and the negro in the passage. The latter had dropped Greg to the pavement. It was of brick, and a tiny trickle of cold water ran down the middle of it. The negro made some whining complaint to his master that Greg could not catch. "Oh, crack him over the head!" said de Socotra impatiently. "Stick his body in some out of the way corner, and go to your own place. Don't leave the rope behind for evidence." That was the last Greg knew. Oddly enough he heard the sound of the blow that he did not feel. Consciousness was snuffed out. CHAPTER V THE TAXI YARD