Jack was gallantly reading road-signs to the girl: “Careful of the landing, half a turn to the left now, put your right hand on the wall and—”
“Shut up!” I growled at him. “It’s better to have her falling down than to have everybody in the drum fall on us.”
We reached the second floor. It was black as black. There were three stories to the building.
“I’ve mislaid the blooming stairs,” Jack complained.
We poked around in the dark, hunting for the flight that should lead up toward our roof. We didn’t find it. The riot downstairs was quieting. Vance’s voice was telling his push that they were mixing it with each other, asking where we had gone. Nobody seemed to know. We didn’t know, either.
“Come on,” I grumbled, leading the way down the dark hall toward the back of the building. “We’ve got to go somewhere.”
There was still noise downstairs, but no more fighting. Men were talking about getting lights. I stumbled into a door at the end of the hall, pushed it open. A room with two windows through which came a pale glow from the street lights. It seemed brilliant after the hall. My little flock followed me in and we closed the door.
Red O’Leary was across the room, his noodle to an open window.
“Back street,” he whispered. “No way down unless we drop.”
“Anybody in sight?” I asked.
“Don’t see any.”
I looked around the room—bed, couple of chairs, chest of drawers, and a table.