urned reluctantly and followed him down the
alley.

Chapter Twenty-two

_Mark Makes a Move_

Passing hurriedly out of the cloakroom, a little later, Ruth met
Simonds, the lieutenant of Frederic Fernand, in the passage. He was a
ratfaced little man, with a furtive smile. Not an unpleasant smile, but
it was continually coming and going, as if he wished earnestly to win
the favor of the men before him, but greatly doubted his ability to do
so. Ruth Tolliver, knowing his genius for the cards, knowing his cold
and unscrupulous soul, detested him heartily.

When she saw his eyes flicker up and down the hall she hesitated.
Obviously he wished to speak with her, and obviously he did not wish to
be seen in the act. As she paused he stepped to her, his face suddenly
set with determination.

"Watch John Mark," he whispered. "Don't trust him. He suspects
everything!"

"What? Everything about what?" she asked.

Simonds gazed at her for a moment with a singular expression. There were
conjoined cynicism, admiration, doubt, and fear in his glance. But,
instead of speaking again, he bowed and slipped away into the open hall.

She heard him call, and she heard Fernand's oily voice make answer. And
at that she shivered.

What had Simonds guessed? How, under heaven, did he know where she had
gone when she left the gaming house? Or did he know? Had he not merely
guessed? Perhaps he had been set on by Fernand or Mark to entangle and
confuse her?

There remained, out of all this confusion of guesswork, a grim feeling
that Simonds did indeed know, and that, for the first time in his life,
perhaps, he was doing an unbought, a purely generous thing.

She remembered, now, how often Simonds had followed her with his eyes,
how often his face had lighted when she spoke even casually to him. Yes,
there might be a reason for Simonds' generosity. But that implied that
he knew fairly well what John Mark himself half guessed. The thought
that she was under the suspicion of Mark himself was terrible to her.

She drew a long breath and advanced courageously into the gaming rooms.

The first thing she saw was Fernand hurrying a late comer toward the
tables, laughing and chatting as he went. She shuddered at the sight of
him. It was strange that he, who had, a moment before, in the very
cellar of that house, been working to bring about the death of two men,
should now be immaculate, self-possessed.

A step farther and she saw John M