Before she could say no, even though she would have said it, he had
linked his arm in hers, banged shut the door and they were being
whisked to the street in the elevator.

This time, as they were about to go out of the building, she noticed
Drummond standing in the shadow of a corner back of the cigar
counter on the first floor. She told Murray of the times she had
seen Drummond following her. Murray ground his teeth.

"He'll have to hustle this time," he muttered, handing her quickly
into a cab that was waiting for a fare.

Before he could give the order where to drive she had leaned out of
the window, "To the ferry," she cried.

Murray looked at her inquiringly. Then he understood. "Not to the
Riverside--yet," she whispered. "That man has just summoned a cab
that was passing."

In her eyes Murray saw the same fire that had blazed when she had
told him he was running away from a fight that had not yet begun. As
the cab whirled through the now nearly deserted downtown streets, he
reached over in sheer admiration and caressed her hand. She did not
withdraw it, but her averted eyes and quick breath told that a
thousand thoughts were hurrying through her mind, divided between
the man in the cab beside her and the man in the cab following
perhaps half a block behind.

At the ferry they halted and pretended to be examining a time table,