As Greg proceeded along the street to rejoin Hickey, he measured with his eye the distance from the porch floors to the window overhead. All the houses were of the same design. "Twelve feet," he said to himself; "a ten-foot ladder will do."

"Let's go home," he said to Hickey. "We've got to lay plans for an attack after midnight."

"An attack! Good Lord!" said Hickey apprehensively.

"Hickey, where can we get a ten-foot ladder?"

"There's ladders lying around the yard."

"That simplifies matters."

"Are you countin' on carrying a ladder through the streets after midnight? No cop would let you by."

"Ay, there's the rub, as friend Hamlet says. We might cut it in half and rig it as an extension ladder. Then we could carry it inside."

"How about a window-cleaner's ladder? That works up and down on ropes."

"Excellent idea! Do you know any window-cleaners?"

"No, but it's only eight o'clock. The big stores are open for the Christmas trade. You can get most anything at Macymaker's."

"Hickey, sometimes you display almost human intelligence. En avant to Macymaker's!"

Sure enough in the house-furnishing department of that vast emporium, Greg found what he wanted. The salesman wondered perhaps that any one should pick out a window-cleaner's ladder for a Christmas present, but Greg was not worrying about what the salesman might think. With a couple of sheets of store paper wrapped about it, and tied with twine, the ladder was sufficiently disguised, so that there was little danger of the most zealous policeman's suspicions being aroused by the sight of it.

As he and Hickey tied it on top of the flivver outside, Greg said with a chuckle: "Burglary made easy!"

Hickey shivered. "Don't use such ugly-sounding words!" he begged.

They went on. Greg offered Hickey a cigar. "We have time on our hands now," he said. "Light up and let the old girl trundle home at her ease like a lady."

The phantasmagoria of Houston Street was spread before them again. Here was Christmas shopping of the humbler sort. End to end the push-carts extended along the curb lighted by smoky kerosene flares and displaying an amazing variety of wares from sets of "genuine imitation ermine furs" down to apples pickled in brine. The pavement was literally packed, largely by reason of the fat shoppers who took up the room of three or four.

Coming towards them they perceived a stir of excitement in the throng. A big policeman was slowly forcing his way through, presumably urging before him some unfortunate they could not see. In the policeman's wake was a struggling procession of those who were trying to get a look. The quality of excitement in their faces suggested that the affair was something out of the common.

As Greg and Hickey passed abreast of the policeman the crowd opened for a moment, and they had a brief glimpse of the man he had in charge. They saw the slight and sagging figure of a young man with small features. His face was greenish; he shambled along with eyes half-closed. His hat was gone, and to their surprise they saw that his clothes were drenched. They were near the river.

"A would-be suicide," said Greg. "Poor devil!"

An odd little grunt escaped from Hickey, and he brought the cab to a stop with a jerk.

"What's up?" asked Greg.

"That—that face," stammered Hickey.

"What of it?"

"I've been looking for it for three days by your orders. That's the fellow with the little black mustache, who hired me on the pier that night."

Greg was effectually galvanized into action. Slipping out of his seat, he said: "Turn the first corner to the right, and wait for me in the side street. I'll look after him. He doesn't know me."

Greg ran down the roadway until he got in advance of the policeman; then forcing his way through the crowd, who gave way before his determined air, he fronted the officer.

"Beg pardon, officer. I think I know this man. What's he done?"

Greg's good clothes and assured air were not without their effect. The policeman was disposed to be complaisant. "Attempted suicide. Jumped off a Houston Street ferry, he did. A deckhand pulled him out."

The crowd, delighted to receive exact information as to the affair, waited open-mouthed for more. The prisoner glanced at Greg with indifferent, lack-luster eyes. He said nothing.

"He's soaking wet," said Greg. "And at this time of year——"

"I'm keeping him walking," said the blue-coat. "And the station is but a block away. We'll give him blankets there."

Greg fell into step beside the policeman. "Poor devil! Are you obliged to lay a charge against him?"

"They always do. Attempted suicide's a crime."

"But nobody's ever sent to jail for it."

"If I let him go he might try it again."

"Four days to Christmas, officer. Let me take care of him. I'll give him a square meal and a bed. I've got a cab around the corner. I'll take him home in that."

Voices from the crowd said: "Aw, let him go. It's Christmas. He ain't harmed nobody but himself."

The blue-coat was a bit nettled by the implication of hard-heartedness. "'Tain't nothin' to me," he said. "Come on to the station, and if the loot'nant says all right, all right."

"I'll be there," said Greg. "You take him on, and I'll get my cab."

Greg and Hickey doubled back through the next street and were already at the station-house door when the officer arrived with his prisoner. Greg had no great difficulty in persuading the good-natured officer at the desk to let the wretched young man go. The inconsistency of arresting a man for trying to kill himself cannot but be apparent to all. It is something that he cannot be prevented from doing if he wants to. A mumbled promise was extracted from the prisoner that he would not try it again, and he was handed over to Greg's care.

Wrapping him in the lap-robe, Greg bundled him into the flivver and they drove off amid the plaudits of the crowd gathered around the station-house steps. The young man did not come face to face with Hickey. Greg felt a little shamefaced that the people should think he was playing the part of the good Samaritan.

"If they knew!" he thought. "It's only out of the frying pan into the fire for him, poor wretch!"

As the cab started the young man never so much as looked up. He half sat, half lay in the corner of the cab like an old man in whom the last spark of life is almost quenched. His eyes were open, yet they saw nothing. He seemed to be quite indifferent as to where Greg was taking him; he seemed not to care whether he were in jail or out again. Greg, who had never seen a human creature so beaten down, scarcely knew how to act towards him. His heart was touched by the sight of such utter wretchedness, but to offer him sympathy would have been both cruel and hypocritical. On the other hand he could not hit the man while he was down by letting him see that his crime was known. For the present it seemed best merely to try to restore him by warmth, food and sleep, until he was better able to meet his fate like a man.

The young man himself broke the silence. "You would have done better to let me go," he muttered. He spoke with a slight foreign accent.

"Buck up!" said Greg. "Nothing's so bad but what it might be worse." To Greg while he uttered them the words sounded hollow, addressed to one in this young man's position, but he had to say something.

"I suppose I ought to thank you," said the other with weary bitterness.

"You needn't trouble about that," said Greg grimly.

"If you want to do me a real kindness, stop the man and let me out. I can still walk to the river."

"Mustn't talk like that," said Greg. "There's food and warmth waiting for you. Let that do you for the present."

............