said.

He drew her on. "I am a good many things," he said, easily, "and the king
of this rat-run amongst them. There's no one knows it as well as I do."

Her heart sank. "You said--you said yesterday--you had lived straight!"
she said, in a low voice.

"Did I? But what does it matter to you how I live?" With a touch of
recklessness he put the question. "If Fletcher Hill managed to put the
official seal on me, what would it matter to you--now?"

There was almost a note of anger in his voice, yet his hand still held
hers in the same close, reassuring grasp. She could not be afraid.

"It would matter," she said at last.

"I wonder why?" said Bill Warden.

"Because--we are friends," she said.

He made a sharp sound as of dissent, but he did not openly contradict
her. They were nearing the opening, and the ground was rough and broken.
She stumbled once or twice, and each time he held her up. Finally they
came to a flight of steps that were little more than notches cut steeply
in the rock.

"I shall have to carry you here," he said.

Dot looked upwards with sharp dismay. The rocky wall rose twenty feet