its hopeless end.

The weeks ran into months. Mrs. Anderson still hoped drearily. Every
night the light in the hall burned now till daybreak. And every night
she wept herself to sleep for that her one ewe lamb was lost in a
ravenous world.

Tears were for the night. Wan smiles for the day, when she and Sam,
drawn close by a common grief, met to understand each other with few
words. He was back again at his work as curator of the museum at the
State House, a place Jeff had secured for him after the election.

Outside of Nellie's mother the one friend to whom Sam turned now was
Jeff. He came for comfort, to sit long hours in the office while Farnum
did his night work. Sometimes he would read; more often sit brooding
with his chin in his hands. When the midnight rush was past and Jeff was
free they would go together to a restaurant.

Afterwards they would separate at the door of the block where Jeff had
his rooms.

Part 3

Yet when Jeff found her it was not Sam who was with him, but Marchant.
They had been to see Sobieski about a place Captain Chunn had secured
for him as a night watchman of the shipbuilding plant of which Clinton
Rogers was part owner. The Pole had mounted his hobby and it had been
late when they got away from his cabin under the viaduct.

Just before they turned into lower Powers Avenue from the deadline below
Yarnell Way, Marchant clutched at the sleeve of his friend.

"See that woman's face?" he asked sharply.

"No."

Jeff was interested at once. For during the past months he had fallen
into a habit of scanning the countenance of any woman who might be the
one they sought.

"She knew you. I could see fear jump to her eyes."

"We'll go back," Jeff decided instantly.

"She's in deep water. Death is written on her face."

Already Jeff was swinging back, almost on the run. But she had gone
swallowed up in the darkness of the night. They listened, but could hear
only the steady splashing of the rain. While they stood hesitating the
figure of a woman showed at the other end of the alley and was lost at
once down Pacific Avenue.

Jeff ran toward the lights of the other avenue, but before he reached it
she had again disappeared. Marchant joined him a few moments later. The
little socialist leaned against the wall to steady himself against the
fit of coughing that racked him.

"Nuisance... this... being a lunger... What's it all... about, Jeff?"

"I know her. We'll cover the waterfront.