A policeman crossed the street, peered up the stairway, listened to the screams inside, looked the sobbing girl over, and kept on his way, swinging his club.

A priest came along--one I know, a well-set-up man, who can take care of himself, no matter where.

He touched the girl's arm and drew her inside the doorway, his head bent to hear her story.

Then he went up--in jumps--two steps at a time--stumbling in the dark, picking himself up again, catching at the rail to help him mount the quicker, the screams overhead increasing at every step.

When he reached the door, it was bolted on the inside.