“Before we go out,” she whispered in his ear—“before anything happens, tell me again, Eddie, do you l—do you really like me?”
“On the dead level,” said Cork, holding her close with one arm, “when it comes to you, I’m all in.”
When they turned they found they were lost and in darkness. The last of the fleeing customers had descended. Half way across the yard they bore the ladder, stumbling, giggling, hurrying to place it against an adjoining low building over the roof of which their only route to safety.
“We may as well sit down,” said Cork grimly. “Maybe Rooney will stand the cops off, anyhow.”
They sat at a table; and their hands came together again.
A number of men then entered the dark room, feeling their way about. One of them, Rooney himself, found the switch and turned on the electric light. The other man was a cop of the old régime—a big cop, a thick cop, a fuming, abrupt cop—not a pretty cop. He went up to the pair at the table and sneered familiarly at the girl.
“What are youse doin’ in here?” he asked.
“Dropped in for a smoke,” said Cork mildly.
“Had any drinks?”
“Not later than one o’clock.”