Barron had brushed past him into the streaming night. “Come on,” he shouted back. “Good Lord, come quick!” At the foot of the zigzag stairs he saw the two gleaming lights of a hack. With the other men clattering at his heels, he dashed down the steps, and was in it, chafing and swearing, while they were fumbling for the latch of the gate. As the boy, after giving the coachman an address, scrambled in beside him, he said peremptorily: “When did you find her? Tell me everything.” “About two hours ago. My dog found her. I live, I and my mother, on the slope of Russian Hill. It’s quite a big place with a lot of trees. I went down to get Jack (that’s my dog) at the vet’s, where he’s been for a week, and I was bringing him home. When we got to the top of the steps he began sniffing round and barking, and then he ran to a place where there’s a little sort of bunch of fir-trees and barked and jumped round, and went in among the trees. I followed him to see what was up, and all of a sudden I heard some one say from under the trees: ‘Oh, it’s only a dog.’ I was scared and ran into the house and got a lamp, and when I came out with my mother, and we went in among the trees, there was a woman in there, who was lying on the ground. When she saw us she sort of sat up, as if she’d been asleep, and said: ‘Is it Sunday yet?’ We saw her distinctly; she was staring right at us. She didn’t look as if she was crazy, but we both thought she was. She was terribly white. We knew she couldn’t be drunk, because she was like a lady--she spoke that way.” “And then--and then,” said Barron, “what did she do?” “She said again, ‘It isn’t Sunday yet?’ and mother said, ‘No, not yet,’ and we went away. I ran to the police office, but we left one of the Chinamen to watch so she wouldn’t get away, ’cause we didn’t know what was the matter with her. We’ll be there in a minute now. It isn’t far.” The hack, which had been rattling round corners at top speed, now began to ascend. Barron could see the gaunt flank of Russian Hill looming above them, with here and there a house hanging to a ridge or balanced on a slope. The lights of the town dropped away on their right in a series of sparkling terraces. “Do you guess it’s the lady you’re hunting?” said the policeman politely. “I’m almost certain it is,” answered Barron. “Can’t you make this man go faster?” “The hill’s pretty steep here,” said the guardian of the city’s peace. “I don’t seem to think he could do it.” “We’re almost there,” said the boy; “it’s just that house where the aloe is--there on the top of that high wall.” Barron looked in the direction, and saw high above them, on the top of a wall like the rampart of a fortress, the faint outline of a house and the black masses of trees etched against the only slightly paler sky. “I don’t see any aloe,” he growled; “is that the house you mean?” “That’s it,” said the boy. “I guess it’s too dark for the aloe to-night.”