They were now on the outside of the gate. Flattening themselves against the wall, not daring to breathe, they waited.
Turning, the police clicked their heels and marched away. Outside, before the open anteway, marched a solitary guard. Once they were past him, they were safe.
Fortune favored them. The man hazarded a moment off duty to step into a door for a cup of coffee. In that moment, they were away.
“Easy,” said Pant. “Should have brought your friend, the Roosian.”
“He wouldn’t come,” said Johnny sorrowfully. “Said it wasn’t any use.”
“All we got to do’s keep hid till mornin’.”
They escaped from the alley through a gate into a garden, and there, in a shed against the side of a brick building, they waited for the morning.
As they lay there half awake, there came to Johnny’s ears the words of a ridiculous popular song of other days:
| “Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! How you come on, Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! How you come on!” |
“Sounds like Mazie,” whispered Johnny, starting to his feet. “It is Mazie. They’ve got her hid up there!”