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52 once. I didn't mean to speak to you. But I had to see you before I go. Do you believe me?"

She brooded on him, excited, fearless now. And she answered: "The other man—the one you—why"

"The man I killed doesn't matter," said Andy. "Nothing matters except that I've got this minute here with you."

"But where will you go? How will you escape?"

"I'll go to death, I guess," said Andy quietly. "But I'll have a grin for Satan when he lets me in. I've beat 'em, even if they catch me."

"Tell me your name."

"What's my name? Nothing! And don't waste time on things like that."

The coverlet dropped from her breast; her hand was suspended with stiff fingers. There had been a sound as of some one stumbling on the stairway, the unmistakable slip of a heel and the recovery; then no more sound. Andy was on his feet. She saw his face white, and then there was a glitter in his eyes, and she knew that the danger was nothing to him. But Anne Withero whipped out of her bed.

"Did you hear?"

"I tied and gagged him," said Andy, "but he's broken loose, and now he's raising the house on the quiet."

For an instant they stood listening, staring at each other.

"They—they're coming up the hall," whispered the girl. "Listen!"

It was no louder than a whisper from without—the creak of a board. Andrew Lanning slipped to the door and turned the key in the lock. When he rejoined her in the middle of the room he gave her the key.

"Let 'em in if you want to," he said.