A man on the other side of the street watched Jeff come down and cross to the drug store. Billie Gray, ballot box stuffer, detective, and general handy man for Big Tim O'Brien, had been lurking in that entry when Jeff came home. He had sneaked up the stairs after them and had seen the editor disappear into his rooms with one whom he took to be a woman of the street. Already a second plain clothes man was doing sentry duty. The policeman whose beat it was sat in the drug store and kept an eye open from that quarter. To the officer Jeff nodded casually. “Bad weather to be out all night in, Nolan.” “Right you are, Mr. Farnum.” The editor ordered a bottle of whiskey and while it was being put up passed into the telephone booth and closed the door behind him. He called up Olive 431. Central rang again and again. “Can't get your party,” she told him at last. “You'll waken him presently. Keep at it, please. It's very important.” At last Sam Miller's voice answered. “Hello! Hello! What is it?” “I've found Nellie.... Just in time. thank God...She's at my rooms.... Have Mrs. Anderson bring an entire change of clothing for her.... Yes, she's very much exhausted. I'll tell you all about it later.... Come quietly. She may be asleep when you get here.” Jeff hung up the receiver, paid for the whiskey, and returned to his rooms. He did not know that he had left three good and competent witnesses who were ready to take oath that he had brought to his rooms at midnight a woman of the half world and that he had later bought liquor and returned with it to his apartment. Billie Gray thumped his fist into his open palm. “We've got him. We've got him right. He can't get away from it. By Gad, we've got him at last!” Jeff found Nellie wrapped in his bathrobe in the big chair before the gas log. Her own wet clothes were out of sight behind a screen. “You locked the door when you went out,” she charged. “Some of my friends might have dropped in to see me,” he explained with his disarming smile. But he could see in her eyes the unreasoning fear of a child that has been badly hurt. He had locked the door on the outside. She was going to be dragged home whether she wanted to go or not. Dread of that hour was heavy on her soul. Jeff knew the choice must be hers, not his. He spoke quietly. “You're not a prisoner, of course. You may go whenever you like. I would have no right to keep you. But you will hurt me very much if you go before morning.” “Where will you stay?” she asked. “I'll sleep on the lounge in this room,” he answered in his most matter of fact voice.