He thrust one hand into an inner pocket, as if to produce something, and the next instant had leaped forward, snatching the candle from her as he did so. As he darted past her in the darkness, he felt a futile clutch of hands on his coat, and then her voice was raised in a series of piercing shrieks: "Help! Murder! Jim! Jim!" Taking the stairs in great leaps, Lawrence thought he had never heard such bedlam in his life. The woman continued to scream at the top of her voice. Somewhere a door was jerked open, and a man’s harsh voice, adding to the tumult, accelerated Barry’s flight. He flung himself at the door, one hand instinctively touched the spring lock, while the other yanked it open. He had the wit to remember a second antiquated catch, seldom used, and ponderous to undo, and promptly snapped it down before slamming the door behind him. Without an instant’s hesitation, he ran straight toward Tenth Avenue. Fortunately the street was dark and deserted, and he reached the corner without encountering any one. As he whirled around into the avenue, he looked swiftly backward, and saw the door of Mrs. Kerr’s house burst open, throwing a shaft of light out across the icy sidewalk. Into that path of light two figures hurried—one tall, thin, and wearing a slouch hat; the other chunky and shapeless. "My dear landlady and Jim, whoever he may be," Lawrence murmured, as he started briskly south on the avenue. "I wish ’em the joy of their hunt for me. What an old harridan that woman is! She positively made my flesh creep when she was coming at me in the hall. Wonder what she was after?" He did not waste much thought on the matter, however. Very likely the woman was drunk, and it was rather startling for her to encounter a man who did not belong in the house. At all events, it was immaterial. He had managed to get out of the scrape successfully, so he devoted himself to brushing off his coat and hat, and putting on his gloves, while hastening toward the car line on Twenty-third Street. He was more than thankful for the whim which had caused him to wear a soft hat of black velour. It had stayed with him through all the excitement of the evening, and now needed only a deft touch or two to make it quite presentable. As the car bowled eastward at a good clip, Barry chuckled one or twice at the thought of Joyce’s discomfiture when driven back to the roof by those piercing shrieks from Mrs. Kerr. "He’ll be mad as a wet hen," he thought amusedly. "Serves him right, though, for trying such a game." Altogether, Barry was very much pleased with the way things had turned out. While he had come no nearer to solving the mystery which seemed to surround him, he had at least learned the lesson of caution, and it would be an extremely difficult matter to catch him unawares as he had been caught to-night.