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Rh of the gang's purpose. I was elected leader of the gang. Then came the administering of the oath to each member. No oath was ever more solemn or binding.

Each member of the gang was a specialist. There was Tony Zellerton, whose knowledge of safes of every description and his ability to open them was almost uncanny. Zip Brinton, New York's cleverest pickpocket, was with us. Sandy Dunnlund, whose reputation as a confidence man was the envy of many crooks, unhesitatingly took the oath. The noted Charles ("Doc") Hanks, exlawyer and detective, but now a supercriminal, enthusiastically lined up with us.

And Marie—beautiful Marie!—who had yet to find a sample of handwriting that she could not imitate perfectly; whose wonderful dark eyes had lured many a money leech to his financial doom; whose utterly clueless criminal operations had astounded a nation and completely baffled the police and detectives! Ah, yes, every member of the Black Hawks was an expert in his line—a criminal genius.

In two weeks every detail of organization was completed. No secret order in existence was more closely united; no organization of men and women was so intent on a common purpose.

Our first victim was Malcom Nisson, the near millionaire who had become wealthy through "legalized" crime. We spread our net carefully, twenty-three keen criminal brains against the brain of Nisson. Slowly, cautiously we gathered him in. In six months Malcolm Nisson was practically penniless. I have seen his ghost, the ghost of a suicide—ugh!

Next came Dixon Denner, the profiteering sugar king, whose indiscriminate and heartless machinations had been felt in every home in America. Although he was not entirely crushed, many thousands of his ill-gotten dollars went into the coffers of the Black Hawks.

Others fell hard under our subtle attacks, and we prospered exceedingly.

And through it all I loved Marie Galtier. I had, loved her from the moment I looked into the liquid depths of her dark eyes, though as yet I feared to tell her of it. And, too, Terry loved her. The situation was becoming strained.

It was Terry, good, old chum Terry, who relieved it. We had never ceased to be roommates and pals.

"Pal of mine," he said one evening in his usual direct way, "you are hopelessly in love with Marie. Now don't try to dodge the issue," he went on hurredlyhurriedly [sic], as I attempted to cut in. "You love Marie, but darn your old carcass, you don't love her a whit more than I do. Now here, Hal," he stood before me and placed his hands on my shoulders—"we must be rivals in love because we both love Marie; our rivalry in that respect is inevitable, irrevocable. But let's play the game square. If you win, I drop out gracefully, no matter how bitter the pill, and remain your pal. If I win will you do the same?"

"That proposition is characteristic of you, Terry," I replied, "and it has greatly relieved my mind. I certainly promise to play my cards in this little game of hearts as a gentleman and a pal should. If you win Marie, I remain your friend and chum. In fact, Terry, as much as I love Marie, I would give her up rather than lose your friendship."

WON Marie.

What a race it was! Terry, though naturally glum over the outcome, smiled bravely and gave me the hand of friendship.

"I am glad for you, old man," he said, and I knew he spoke from his heart.

Marie and I waited patiently until all the gang were in the city before we were married. Then came the nuptial festivities in the rendezvous of the Black Hawks. We made our home in a sumptuous three-room suite at Mother Maldrene's.

Our landlady's house, though the home of some of America's most notorious criminals, was exclusive in that only real, aristocratic criminals were admitted. And, too, Mother Maldrene's power reached far into police circles. She purchased and paid well for protection.

Terry was always given a hearty welcome in our home and he conducted himself as merely an old friend of the family, though I knew his heart ached.

A year passed; a prosperous, strenuous year for the Black Hawks and not without its dark days. Big Bill Silwert, one of our best gunmen, had been killed in a running fight with operatives of the Bixler Detective Agency. Sam Alvers died in the same skirmish. Jesse Delmere, our witty little electrician and locksmith, was captured while in the performance of his duties on the famous Micheau art job. He died in prison. Zane Baldwin turned informer, but before he had done much damage he—well, he became a ghost.

It was while directing the activities of the Black Hawks on the Helwig Oil Company job that my troubles began. Being a materialist, I scoffed at hunches, forebodings and the like. Marie, who was as temperamental and superstitious as she was beautiful, implored me to give up the Helwig job.

"I feel, Hal," she persisted in telling me, "that all will not go well on this case."

She invariably used the word "case" instead of my more indelicate term, "job."

I. patted her shoulder and laughed lightly.

"Why, little girl," I patiently assured her, "the gang has discussed every detail of the venture. Every possible flaw in the chain of our intended movements on the job has been considered minutely. It is very simple. I have volunteered to get the papers from the safe in the company's office. The gang will take care of the policeman on the beat and the watchman in the building, and any one else who happens to be near the place. Once we have the incriminating papers in our possession, we will force Helwig and his associates to refund at par every cent squeezed from fools all over the country. Then will come our five hundred thousand for silence. Don't worry, it will be an easy haul."

"Nevertheless, I have a—a—oh, a premonition that all is not well." She looked pleadingly into my eyes. "Why did you volunteer to get the papers from the safe, Hal? That's Tony Zellerton's work."

"Because," I answered, "Tony has taught me much about safes in the past year, and I feel that it is up to me to do some real work once."

How our plans miscarried and how I alone was captured is another story. Enough to say that the situation resolved itself into a question of the capture of the entire gang and I alone escaping, or I giving warning to the gang and thereby being captured alone.

ARIE—poor girl!—was the only member of the gang present at my trial, it having been previously agreed at the meetings of the Black Hawks that when a member was in the toils of the law the others should not endanger the organization by being present at his trial. Neither should they correspond with a member during his incarceration. Marie, however, was not known by the police and was granted permission by a majority of votes of the gang to attend my trial and correspond with me if I were convicted.

I was found guilty and sentenced to serve not less than ten years nor more than twenty years in the state prison. Marie, after being thoroughly searched