And now cautiously, inch by inch, he was raising the window; and in
another moment, in obedience to his whisper, the bound wrists were
thrust within his reach, and he was severing the cords with his knife.
"Thank God!" breathed Jimmie Dale fervently. "Now jump--across the
yard--the door of Foo Sen's shed--it's open--_quick_--"
There came a sudden crash from the front of the house, a sudden turmoil
from within, a burst of shouts, a chorus of yells. The police! And now
another shout, another burst of yells--from the rear--from the lane!
Jimmie Dale's lips were like a thin, straight line. She was free from
the house now, standing beside him here in the darkness. He reached
swiftly up and closed the shutters--left open they invited immediate
attention. His mind was working in lightning flashes. The police were at
the front and rear, of course--they would not raid the front and leave
the rear unguarded! But why the shouts out there in the lane--why had
they not rushed in at once--and why now that _shot_! It was followed by
another, and still another--and then a fusillade of them, as though the
shots were returned.
"Quick!" he whispered again, and led the way toward the gate in the
fence.
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