She took a quick step toward the door, and then, her hand already on the latch, she paused in uncertainty; finally, she drew a small, pearl-handled revolver from the bottom tray, and placed it carefully in a pocket of her jacket.
"I--I hardly believe I could ever use it," she thought, "but maybe I might." Outside, in the narrow, deserted hall, she stood at the head of the steep flight of stairs and listened.

The snoring of the drunken man in the office below was the only disturbing sound.

Out through the open office door a dull bar of yellow light streamed across the lower steps.
Like a ghost she stole silently down, treading so softly not a stair creaked beneath her cautious footfalls.

The next moment she had opened the door, and was alone in the dark street.
Dark it was, but neither deserted nor silent.

The unleashed evil of San Juan was now in full control, more madly riotous than ever beneath the cloak of so late an hour.