And, with a low, broken cry, Jimmie Dale
swung out a supporting arm, and pushing the shed door open with his
elbow, gained the interior, and lowered his burden gently, a dead weight
now, to the floor.
And then Jimmie Dale sprang to the door, and swung a heavy bolt that was
there into place; then, running across the shed, he locked the other
door as well. It was, perhaps, needless precaution. No one had seen them
enter here, and there was little chance of the police developing any
interest in the shed; while from the other side--Foo Sen's--the fact
that there was a police battle in the lane would only cause the inmates
of the dive to give the shed and lane the widest possible berth!
It had taken scarcely a second to lock the doors, and now he knelt
beside a form that was ominously still upon the floor, and called her
name over and over again.
"Marie! Marie! Marie!" he whispered frantically.
There was no answer--no movement. The strong, steady hands shook, those
marvellous fingers, usually so deft and sure, faltered now as they
loosened the cloak and threw the hood back over the wig of tangled,
matted hair. It was not the darkness alone that would not let him
see--there was a mist and a blur before his eyes.
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