past twelve in the morning?

She began walking slowly and rather aimlessly, it seemed to me, along
the street in the direction of Sixth Avenue. My curiosity was
unbounded. I followed her at a decent interval to see what she was
going to do. But she did not seem to know.

The girl looked as if she had stepped out of a cloister into an unknown
world, and the dog added to the strangeness of the picture.

The street loafers stared after her, and two men began walking abreast
of her on the other side of the road. I followed more closely.

As she stood upon the curb on the east side of Sixth Avenue I saw her
glance timidly up and down before venturing to cross. There was little
traffic, and the cars were running at wide intervals, but it was quite
half a minute before she summoned resolution to plunge beneath the
structure of the elevated railroad. When she had reached the other
side she stood still again before continuing westward.

The two men crossed the street and planted themselves behind her. They
were speaking in a tongue that sounded like French, and one had a patch
over his eye. A taxicab was crawling up behind them. I was sure that
they were in pursuit of her.

The four of us were almost abreast in the middle of the long block
between Sixth and Seventh Avenues. We were passing a dead wall, and
the street was almost empty.

Suddenly the man with the patch turned on me, lowered his head, and