If he shouted for help and it came, he was lost.

Once the police took a hand in the affair, the newspaper publicity that would follow would result in the total ruin of all his hopes.

There was only one chance--to finish this affair outside the hotel, in some fog-dimmed street.

There leaped into his mind, obliquely and queerly, a picture in one of Victor Hugo's tales--Quasimodo.

And there he stood, in every particular save the crooked back.