She jumped to her feet. Two of the gang had reached the landing and were smashing at the Adventurer. There seemed to be a swirling mob in riot there below. The Adventurer was fighting like a madman. It was hand to hand now. “Quick! Quick!” she cried to the Adventurer. “Jump back through the door.” “Oh, no, you don't!” It was Skeeny--she could see the man's brutal face now. “Oh, no, you don't, you she-devil!” he shouted, and, over-reaching the Adventurer's guard, struck at her furiously with his clubbed revolver. It struck her a glancing blow on the head, and she reeled and staggered, but recovered herself. And now it seemed as though it were another battle that she fought--and one more desperate; a battle to fight back a horrible giddiness from overpowering her, and with which her brain was swimming, to fight it back for just a second, the fraction of a second that was needed until--until--“Jump!” she cried again, and staggered over the threshold, and, as the Adventurer leaped backward beside her, she slammed the door, and locked it--and slid limply to the floor. When she regained consciousness she was lying on the cot. It seemed very still, very quiet in the garret. She opened her eyes. It--it must be all right, for that was the Sparrow standing there watching her, and shifting nervously from foot to foot, wasn't it? He couldn't be there, otherwise. She held out her hand. “Marty,” she said, and smiled with trembling lips, “we--we owe you a great deal.” The Sparrow gulped. “Gee, you're all right again! They said it wasn't nothin', but you had me scared worse'n down at the iron plant when I had to do the rough act with that gent friend of yours to stop him from crawlin' after you and fightin' it out, and queerin' the whole works. You don't owe me nothin', Miss Gray; and, besides, I'm gettin' a lot more than is comm' to me, 'cause that same gent friend of yours there says I'm goin' to horn in on the rewards, and I guess that's goin' some, for they got the whole outfit from Danglar down, and the stuff up in the ceiling there, too.” She turned her head. The Adventurer was coming toward the cot. “Better?” he called cheerily. “Yes,” she said. “Quite! Only I--I'd like to get away from here, from this--this horrible place at once, and back to--to my flat if they'll let me. Are--are they all gone?” The Adventurer's gray eyes lighted with a whimsical smile. “Nearly all!” he said softly. “And--er--Sparrow, suppose you go and find a taxi!” “Me? Sure! Of course! Sure!” said the Sparrow hurriedly, and retreated through the door. She felt the blood flood her face, and she tried to avert it. He bent his head close to hers. “Rhoda,” his voice was low, passionate, “I--” “Wait!” she said. “Your friend--the assistant district attorney--did he come?” “Yes,” said the Adventurer. “But I shooed them all out, as soon as we found you were not seriously hurt. I thought you had had enough excitement for one night. He wants to see you in the morning.”