Through the night came suddenly a long, swinging, heavy, tramp, tramp, tramp of feet, a musical jingle of spurs—the tramp and jingle of Corporal Savage's patrol.
"That you, Humphries?"
"Yes, Corporal."
The little, bull-necked, rugged-faced N.C.O. halted in the light from a window.
"He's in the Maverick, all right. Take him easy. We'll be standin' by. Don't draw first. An' remember the C.O. expects you to make good."
"Yes, Corporal."
"Right. I'll wait at the corner."
The darkness and rain gulped them up. The Marquis was alone again.
The Maverick was but a step away. The Marquis crossed over. The sound of many voices and the ring of glasses swelled into the street.
The Marquis, whistling softly, removed his pea-jacket for greater freedom of movement and hung it over a hitching post. This done, he loosed his revolver. Then he opened the door and entered.