. Then slowly, very slowly, he went back into the house and
closed the door... Storch was snoring contentedly.

CHAPTER XIX

The next afternoon Fred Starratt took the fifty-cent piece that he had
earned as flunky to his wife and spent every penny of it in a cheap
barber shop on the Embarcadero. He emerged with an indifferently
trimmed beard and his hair clipped into a semblance of neatness. He
felt better, in spite of his tattered suit and gaping footgear.
Hilmer's card was still in his pocket.

His plans were hazy, nebulous, in fact. He was not quite sure as to
his next move. It seemed useless to attempt to flee from Storch's
shelter. He had no money and scarcely strength enough to tackle any
job that would be open to him. Even if he elected to become a strike
breaker he would have to qualify at least with brawn. The prospect of
snaring a berth from Hilmer had a certain fascination. It would be
interesting to stare defiantly at his enemy at close range, to speak
with him again man to man, to lure him into further bravados. And
then, if Storch's plans for Hilmer had any merits... He stopped short,
a bit frightened at the realization that the idea had presented itself
to him with such directness... He had a sudden yearning to talk to
some human being who would understand. If he could only see Ginger!

He had a feeling that somehow she must have experienced every
exaltation and every degradation in the calendar. Tenderness and
passion and the gift of murder itself were ever the mixed language of
the street. He remembered the gesture he first had made to her almost
timid advances toward helping him. He had been outwardly polite, but
inwardly how scornful of her suggestions! And once he even had
hesitated to let her carry a message to his wife! Now he was ready to
stand or fall upon the bitter fruits of her experience. He felt,
curiously, on common ground with her. And yet there were certain
intangibilities he had never attempted to make positive. Somehow the
mere fact of her existence had enveloped him like warm currents of air
which he could feel, but not visualize. But at this moment he felt the
need of a contact more personal. Suddenly, out of a clear sky, it came
to him that Mrs. Hilmer could tell him something of Ginger's
whereabouts. Mrs. Hilmer? Well, why not? The more he thought the idea
over the more it appealed to him. He ended by turning his steps in the
direction of the Hilmer home.

The maid who