but, from past experiences,
Johnny knew that he could. They would creep close to the iron gate and,
when it was opened to admit others, they would crawl out on hands and
knees.

"And if luck's bad, then this," said Pant, slipping a small dagger into
Johnny's hand.

"You got one, too?"

"Sure."

"All right."

They crept close to the gate and waited. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes
of dreadful silence went by with never an approaching footstep. Johnny's
heart beat painfully. What if the last poor victim had been brought to
await his doom? Dawn would be breaking, and then the firing squad. Cold
perspiration beaded his forehead.

But hold! there came again the shuffle of feet. A lone prisoner was being
brought in.

"Now!" came in a faint whisper. A steady hand gripped his arm. He felt
himself led forward. A foot scraped his knee. It was the incoming
prisoner. He uttered no sound.

They were now on the outside of the gate. Flattening themselves against
the wall, not daring to breathe, they waited.

Turning, the police clicked their heels and marched away. Outside, before
the open anteway, marched a solitary guard. Once they were past him, they
were safe.

Fortune favored them. The man hazarded a moment off duty to step into a
door for a cup of coffee. In that moment, they were away.

"Easy," said Pant. "Should have brought your friend, the Roosian."

"He wouldn't come," said Johnny sorrowfully. "Said it wasn't any use."

"All we got to do's keep hid till mornin'."

They escaped from the alley through a gate into a garden, and there, in a
shed against the side of a brick building, they waited for the morning.

As they lay there half awake, there came to Johnny's ears the words of a
ridiculous popular song of other days:

"Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! How you come on,
Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! How you come on!"

"Sounds like Mazie," whispered Johnny, starting to his feet. "It _is_
Mazie. They've got her hid up there!"

Pant pulled him back to earth. "If it's Mazie, they've got men watchin'.
No good to spill the beans. To-morrow night we'll make up a bunch an' git
'em."

Realizing the wisdom of these words, Johnny quieted his mad desire to rush
the place at once, and sat down.

Just as the first red streaks striped the sky, there came a loud volley of
shots.

Johnny plugged his ears and shivered. Perhaps they were executing the
prisoners. Who could tell?

CHAPTER X