Sullivan was on the sidewalk, looking at the house.
The girl suddenly seized Ralston's hand.
"Mr. Ralston," she said, "be careful while you are in that house. Don't mention a word of what I've told you about Sullivan. They're a reckless lot. Watch yourself and them. Play it easy, and good luck to you. Some time, I hope, I'll see you again."
Ralston pressed her hand.
He climbed down.
"Where to?" mumbled the cabby.
"Stay right here until I come out—if it's six hours!" directed Ralston.
The dawn was flushing the chocolate-colored fronts before them and a milk wagon was working gradually down the block. Ralston felt weak in the knees, but he pounded his feet on the pavement and stepped quickly after Sullivan, who had started up the steps.
"I needn't warn you that there must be no funny business, Sullivan," said Ralston, as the other fumbled in his trousers pocket. "Our bargain holds. Your life for mine and Steadman's."
"You needn't worry," replied Sullivan. "Homicide isn't in our business. I wish I could turn Steadman over to you bound hand and foot, but I can't. You've got him to deal with. The rest is easy. The gang's pretty near through with him. But you've got to handle him yourself."