“A little—rough, Mr. Flowers,” he panted, “a trifle—rough with you—I fear—but I want you—to know that you—shall not utter—her name—in my presence. Now the key—I prefer door to window—the key, Mr. Flowers—ah, here it is!” So saying, Ravenslee stood upright, and wiping blood and sweat from him with his sleeve, turned to the door. “One other thing, Mr. Flowers; have the goodness to take off your neckerchief next time, or I—may strangle you outright.”

Halfway down the passage Ravenslee turned to see Murder close on his heels. Once he smote and twice, but nothing might stay that bull-like rush and, locked in a desperate clinch, he was borne back and back, their trampling lost in the universal din about them, as reeling, staggering, they crashed out through wrecked and splintered door and, still locked together, were swallowed in the night beyond.

Thus the Spider, crouching in the dark beneath the broken window with Spike beside him, was presently aware of the sickening sounds of furious struggling close at hand, and of a hoarse, panting voice that cursed in fierce triumph—a voice that ended all at once in a ghastly strangling choke; and recognising this voice, the Spider hunched his great shoulders and bore Spike to a remote spot where stood a solitary lamp-post. Here he waited, calm-eyed and chewing placidly, one arm about the fretful Spike.

Presently Ravenslee joined them; the shabby hat was gone, and there was a smear of blood upon his cheek, also he laboured in his breathing, but his eyes were joyous.

“Bo, what about Bud?”

“Oh, he’s lying around somewhere.”

“Hully Chee—d’ ye mean—”

“He tried gouging first, but I expected that; then he tried to throttle me, but I throttled a little harder. He’s an ugly customer, as you said, but”—Ravenslee laughed and glanced at his bloody knuckles—”I don’t think he’ll be keen to rough it with me again just yet.”

“Bo, I guess you can be pretty ugly too—say, when you laugh that way I feel—kind of sorry for Bud.”

“Why, what’s wrong with Spike?”

“Dunno—I guess they’ve been slinging dope into him. And he’s copped it pretty bad from Young Alf too—look at that eye!”

“Spike!” said Ravenslee, shaking him, “Spike, what is it? Buck up, old fellow!” But Spike only stared dazedly and moaned.

“It’s dope all right,” nodded the Spider, “or else Bud’s mixed th’ drinks on him.”

“Damn him!” said Ravenslee softly. “I wish I’d throttled a little harder!”

“I guess you give Bud all he needs for the present,” said Spider grimly, “anyway, I’m goin’ t’ see. The Kid ain’t hurt none. Get him home t’ bed, an’ he’ll be all right s’long, long, Geoff.”

“Good night, Spider, and—thank you. Oh, by the way, who’s Heine?”

“Heine’s a Deutscher, Geoff. Heine’s about as clean as dirt an’ as straight as a corkscrew; why, he’d shoot his own mother if y’ paid him, like he did—but say, what d’ you know about him, anyway?”

“Well, for one thing, I know he’s been arrested in Jersey City—”

“Heine? Pinched? Say, bo, what yer givin’ us—who says so?”

“Bud, and—”

But the Spider, waiting for no more, had turned about and was running back across the open lot.

CHAPTER XXI

HOW M’GINNIS THREATENED AND—WENT

“Mr. Geoffrey, prayer is a wonderful prop to a anxious ‘eart!” said Mrs. Trapes, leaning over the banisters to greet him as he ascended. “Mr. Geoffrey, my hands has been lifted in prayer for ye this night as so did me behoove, and here you are safe back with—that b’y. A prayer prayed proper, and prayed by them as ain’t plaguein’ the Lord constant about their souls an’ other diseases, is always dooly regarded. Yes, sir, a occasional petition is always heard and worketh wonders as the—my land, Mr. Geoffrey, look at your face!”

“I know, Mrs. Trapes. Has she come in yet?”

“Not yet—an’ glad I am. You’re all bleedin’—stoop your head a bit—there!” and very tenderly she staunched the cut below the curly hair with an apron clean and spotless as usual. “And the b’y—lord, what’s come to him?”

“A black eye—two, I’m afraid. Anyhow, I’ll look after him and get him into bed before she comes; can you keep her away till I’ve done so?”

“I’ll try. Poor lad!” she sighed, touching Spike’s drooping head with bony fingers, “if she wasn’t his sister, I’d be sorry for him!”

So Ravenslee took Spike in hand, bathing his bruised and battered features and setting ice water to his puffy lips, which the lad gulped thirstily. Thereafter he revived quickly but grew only the more morose and sulky.

“All right,” he muttered, “I’ll go t’ bed, only—leave me, see!”

“Can’t I help you?”

“No—you lemme alone. Oh, I know—you think I’m soused, but I ain’t; I—I’m not drunk, I tell ye—I wish I was. I ain’t no kid, so lemme alone—an’ I ain’t drunk. What if me legs is shaky? So ‘ud yours be if you’d got—what I got. It was dat last swing t’ d’ jaw as done me—but I ain’t drunk ‘n’ I ain’t a kid t’ be undressed—so chase ye’self an’ lemme alone!”

“All right, Spike—only get to bed like a good chap before your sister comes.”

“You leave my sister alone; she ain’t—that kind, an’ she ain’t fer you, anyway.”

“That will do, Arthur—get into bed! I’ll give you five minutes!” So saying, Ravenslee turned away, but, as he closed the door, his quick ear detected the clink of glass, and turning, he saw Spike draw a small flask from his pocket.

“Give me that stuff, old fellow.”

“Oh, you can’t con me! I ain’t a kid, so you lemme alone!” and Spike raised the flask to his lips, but in that instant it was snatched away. Spike staggered back to the wall and leaned there, passing his hand to and fro across his brow as though dazed, then stumbled out into the room beyond.

“Gimme it, Geoff, gimme it!” he panted, “you won’t keep it, no, no—Bud slipped it to me after I come to. Gimme it, Geoff. I want t’ forget—so be a sport an’ give it me—you will, won’t ye?”

Ravenslee shook his head, whereat the boy broke out more passionately:

“Oh—don’t ye see, Geoff—can’t ye understand? I—I was knocked out t’night—I took th’ count! I—I’m done for, I had me chance, an’ I didn’t make good! I—didn’t—make good!” As he spoke, the lad hid his bruised face within his hands, while great sobs shook him.

“Why, Spike! Why, Arthur, old chap—never mind—”

“Gimme th’ bottle, Geoff! Be a pal an’ gimme th’ stuff—I want t’ forget!”

“This wouldn’t help you.”

“Give it me, d’ ye hear—I want it—I’ll have it, anyway—I’ll—” Spike’s voice failed, and cowering back, he sank into a chair at sight of her who stood within the doorway so very silent and pale of lip.

“Ah, don’t, Hermy—don’t look at me like that,” he whispered. “Your eyes hurt me! I ain’t drunk—this time!”

“Oh, boy!” she sighed, “oh, boy—after all your promises!”

Spike rose with hands stretched out appealingly, but even so, he swayed slightly, and seeing this, she shivered.

“Is it th’ fightin’ you mean, Hermy? Why, I did it all for you, Hermy, all for you—I wanted t’ be a champion ‘cause all champions are rich. I wanted t’ make you a real lady—t’ take you away from Mulligan’s—but now—I’m only—a ‘has-been.’ I’ve lost me chance—oh, Hermy, I’m done for; I—oh, Geoff, I—think I’ll—go to bed.”

So Ravenslee set down the flask, and, clasping an arm about Spike’s swaying form, led him from the room, while Hermione stood rigid and watched them go. But when the door had closed behind them, she bowed her head upon her hands and sobbed miserably, until, spying the half-emptied flask through her tears, she sprang forward, and snatching it from the table, dashed it passionately to the floor.

“Oh, dear God of Heaven!” she whispered, sinking to her knees, “not that way—ah, save him from that—keep him from treading that path!” With head bowed upon her folded hands she knelt thus awhile until a sound in the passage aroused her, and rising to her feet, she turned and confronted Bud M’Ginnis.

He stood upon the threshold, and though his glowing, eager eyes dwelt yearningly upon her beauty, he made no motion to enter the room. Upon one cheek the skin was torn and grazed from nose to ear, and upon his powerful throat were vivid marks that showed fierce and red, and these seemed to worry him, for even while he stared upon her loveliness, his hand stole up to his neck, and he touched these glowing blotches gently with his fingers.

“God, Hermy,” said he at last, “you get more beautiful every day!”

She was silent, but reading the fierce scorn in her eyes, he laughed softly and leaned nearer. “Some day, Hermy, you’ll be—all mine! Oh, I can wait; there’s others, an’ you’re worth waitin’ for, I guess. But some day you’ll come t’ me—you shall—you must! Meantime there’s others, but some day it’ll be you an’ you only—when you’re my wife. Ah, marry me, Hermy; I could give you all you want, an’ there’d never be any one else for me—then!”

Her eyes still met his unflinchingly, only she drew away from his nearness, shivering a little; seeing which, he frowned and clenched one hand, for the other had wandered up to his throat again.

“Won’t ye speak t’ me?” he demanded savagely, then shrugging his great shoulders, he continued in gentler tones: “I ain’t here t’ quarrel, Hermy; I only came t’ see if th’ Kid got home all right.” Hermione’s firm, red lips remained tightly closed. “Did he?” Hermione slowly inclined her head.

“Say now, Hermy,” he went on, and his voice grew almost wheedling, “there was a guy here the other night—a stranger, I guess—one o’ these tired, sleepy guys—one o’ the reg’lar soft-talkin’ nancy-boys—who is he?” Hermione only sighed wearily, whereat his voice grew hoarse with passion, and he questioned her fiercely: “Who is he, eh—who is he? What was he doin’ around here, anyway? Well, can’t ye talk? Can’t ye speak?”