g there tensely for a moment to make
sure they were not observed by any chance passer-by, then stepped out on
the sidewalk. Gypsy Nan spoke then:

"I--I can't go much farther," she faltered. "But--but it doesn't matter
now we're out of the house--it doesn't matter where you find me--only
let's try a few steps more."

Rhoda Gray had slipped the flashlight inside her blouse.

"Yes," she said. Her breath was coming heavily. "It's all right, Nan. I
understand."

They walked on a little way up the block, and then Gypsy Nan's grasp
suddenly tightened on Rhoda Gray's arm.

"Play the game!" Gypsy Nan's voice was scarcely audible. "You'll play
the game, won't you? You'll--you'll see me through. That's a good
name--as good as any--Charlotte Green--that's all you know--but--but
don't leave me alone with them--you--you'll come to the hospital with
me, won't you--I--"

Gypsy Nan had collapsed in a heap on the sidewalk.

Rhoda Gray glanced swiftly around her. In the squalid tenement before
which she stood there would be no help of the kind that was needed.
There would be no telephone in there by means of which she could summon
an ambulance. And then her glance rested on a figure far up the block
under a street lamp--a policeman. She bent hurriedly over the prostrate
woman, whispered a word of encouragement, and ran in the officer's
direction.

As she drew closer to the policeman, she called out to him. He turned
and came running toward, and, as he reached her, after a sharp glance
into her face, touched his helmet respectfully.

"What's wrong with the White Moll to-night?" he asked pleasantly.

"There's--there's a woman down there"--Rhoda Gray was breathless from
her run--"on the sidewalk. She needs help at once."

"Drunk?" inquired the officer laconically.

"No, I'm sure it's anything but that," Rhoda Gray answered quickly.
"She appears to be very sick. I think you had better summon an ambulance
without delay."

"All right!" agreed the officer. "There's a patrol box down there in
the direction you came from. We'll have a look at her on the way." He
started briskly forward with Rhoda Gray beside him. "Who is she d'ye
know?" he asked.

"She said her name was Charlotte Green," Rhoda Gray replied. "That's all
she could, or would, say about herself."

"Then she ain't a regular around here, or I guess you'd know her!"
grunted the policeman.

Rhoda Gray made no answer.

They reached Gypsy Nan. The officer bent over h