“Get up, Saint! There’s men comin’, and we don’t know whether they’re friends or not.”
But the Saint mumbled thickly and shook his head. Came a scraping noise at the doorway, and Duke lifted his head to see Luck leaning inside.
“Come out!” she panted excitedly. “They are coming to hang you both! Hurry!”
Duke yanked the Saint to his feet and shoved him out of the doorway. The silhouetted figures of men were coming over the rim of the Alley toward them.
“Follow me!” whispered Luck. “It’s your only chance.”
The Saint mumbled thickly and tried to protest, but Duke hustled him along in the heavy shadow of the rock ledges, while behind them came the clamor of voices, like a pack of hounds casting for a scent.
Luck led them angling up the side of the hill, over ledges where Duke had to fairly carry the Saint, until they came out over the rim. Below them shone the yellow lights of the street, which seemed to be deserted now. From down in Sunshine Alley came the faint voices of the searchers, calling to each other; voices that echoed strangely from that black cleft in the mountain.
Luck took them straight to her own home. The Saint sat down on the door-step and held his head in his hands, while he began his incoherent mumble again.
“Whose place is this?” asked Duke.
“Mine,” panted Luck. “Bring him inside.”