The Rose in the Ring/Part 2/Chapter 8

walked away from him and sat down in one of the big chairs, as if her limbs suddenly had lost the power to support her. He pulled his crumpled hat from his pocket and fumbled it for a few moments. She sat there, looking at him, her lips parted.

"Well," he began, "I guess I'd better be going."

"Going? Where are you going?" she demanded, suddenly alert.

"Oh, out somewhere. I've got ten or twelve hours to kill."

She struggled to her feet.

"Tom, you are not going to leave this house until to-night."

He drew back, amazed.

"What?"

"I am going down to the river with you."

Comprehension was slow in filtering into his brain. A ghastly pallor spread over his face.

"What did you say?"

"I am going to the river with you. But you must stay here until to-night. You are not to go out into the streets. Do you understand?"

"You can't mean that— Why, you must be crazy. You? Why—why, I'm doing it so that you can live. You can't mean what you're thinking of—" He could not complete the sentence. A heavy sweat broke out on his forehead.

She forced a miserable smile to her lips. "You do not understand me, Tom. I am going down to the river with you, but I am coming back alone."

He slowly grasped the meaning of it.

"You—you're going down to see that I do make an end of it?" he cried.

"I want to be sure, for Christine's sake," she said, quite steadily.

He was glaring at her now. "Oh, I see. You don't trust me," he exclaimed bitterly. He put out his hand to steady himself against the library table. "I can't say that I blame you, either. But I won't stay here. I would, if it would do any good, but how can it? The police are likely to pile in here any minute with a warrant for me. That would be fine, wouldn't it?" He strode to the window and tried to look through the passage into the street. "I don't want to be pinched now. Go and look out of the front windows—go on! See if there's any one out there."

She did not move.

"Ain't you going to look?" he demanded.

"The police?" dropped from her lips dully. She had overlooked the danger from that direction, although her mind had been so full of it a little while before. "He won't send them here, Tom—"

"Of course, he will," he broke in irascibly. "He's crazy mad, and he'll act quickly to head off Jenison's warrant. I can't stay here—not another minute. Can't I get out the back way? They may be laying for me in front. Don't look like that, Mary! I can give 'em the slip. It won't do to have them nab me here. Just think of the newspapers! Wake up! Don't you see? And listen: I'll do what I said I would—to-night. I swear it. You can trust me, Mary. Now, quick, show me the way out—and don't let me bump into Christine. I—I couldn't stand that. I don't want to lose my nerve."

She left him and ran into the next room to look out into the avenue. He followed rapidly.

"There are two men standing at the corner," she whispered in alarm. He would have looked out if she had not dragged him away.

"It would be terrible if they were to come in here," she was saying distractedly. "Yes, you must go." She grasped his arm. "Tom, you may go if you'll promise to come back tonight."

"What's that for?"

"Because I insist. At ten o'clock—or any time you may choose. Only you must come back."

He studied her face curiously. Something stirred in his heart, but it had been so long since anything had touched that organ that he failed to credit himself with an emotion. Whatever it was, it impelled him to submit to her demand.

"I'll come," he said uneasily. "I don't see any use in it, though. We can say good-by now."

"No!" she exclaimed. "It must be to-night."

"All right, then. I'll come at ten,—the back way."

Without another word she hurried him through the intervening rooms to the servants' entrance. They passed Brooks in the rear hall. He bowed stiffly to Braddock. Brooks had been listening at a keyhole.

She opened the door and pointed the way with a trembling hand.

"There is the alley, Tom,—through the little gate. Be very careful."

He did not respond. Turning his face away resolutely, he stalked down the narrow steps, and, without so much as a glance behind, hurried off toward the alley-gate. She watched him pass through it, a strange cramp of disappointment in her heart because he had resisted the temptation to look back at his judge. How long she stood there stark and silent she did not know.

Brooks, the footman, was speaking to her.

"Miss Christine is ill, ma'am," he said, from somewhere behind her. "The housekeeper thinks she has fainted, ma'am."

Colonel Grand was in a quandary. He was not afraid of the Braddocks, but he was distinctly alarmed over the intervention and attitude of David Jenison. That aggressive, determined young man had made a threat which struck something like terror to his heart. The more he thought of it, the more insistent became the conviction that Jenison held the whip hand over him. It was not altogether incomprehensible, this amazing turn of affairs. He had drawn a revolver, and he had put himself in a decidedly uncomfortable position, with at least four witnesses against him, three of whom he could not hope to buy off in case of an inquiry.

His first thought on driving away from the Portman house was to rush over to the nearest police station and set the officers of the law on the track of the man he feared and hated, in the hope that he might forestall any action on Jenison's part. On second thoughts, he decided that it would be wiser to make haste slowly. He was in the unhappy position of having to consider his own daughter as one of the witnesses. His brain was working rapidly despite the fact that his daughter was doing all in her power to distract it by an unrestrained flow of invective against—not the Braddocks, but David Jenison!

To her surprise and subsequent rage he suddenly broke in with the announcement that she was to take the first afternoon train out of the city. He had some difficulty in making it plain that her speedy departure was necessary to her own as well as to his personal comfort. While she was still arguing and pleading to be allowed to stay and fight it out with him he stuck his head through the window and instructed the driver to take them to his hotel instead of to the police station, as first directed.

With characteristic decisiveness he directed Roberta to begin her packing as soon as she reached her room. She entreated him to come away with her before Jenison could carry out his threat, but he sharply refused, already having in mind a plan of action, desperate but effective. His first step, however, met with an unexpected rebuke. On the arrival at the hotel he took the cabman aside and deliberately offered him a large sum of money on condition that he would swear that Braddock drew or attempted to draw a revolver. The cabman thought it over. Then he refused.

"Money won't tempt me," he said doggedly, "although God knows I need it. You pulled a gun on him, and he didn't have any that I could see. That young feller took my name and number. He'd catch me in the lie, sure as shootin'. And, say, they sent a couple of guys up for perjury just last week, pals of mine, they were. Not for me, guv'nor. I'll stick to the truth, just to see how it feels."

"But the man has sworn to kill me!"

"You pulled a gun on him," retorted the driver surlily. "I don't like that kind of business. And I guess, if they happen to ask me, I'll just mention that you tried to buy me off, too. Ta-ta! Maybe I'll see you later." And away he went, less virtuous than nature intended him to be, but wholly satisfied that he possessed a conscience, after all.

The Colonel, grim and furtive, accompanied Roberta to the station and saw her safely off. By three or four o'clock in the afternoon he began to feel reasonably certain that Jenison had failed in his attempt to secure a warrant, or had been turned from his purpose by that cool-headed, far-seeing woman, Mary Braddock. He remained in his rooms, disdaining flight or subterfuge. All through the long, hot afternoon, he paced the floor or sat in the windows, nervously awaiting the descent of the officers. They did not come. His spirits took wing again as the close of the day drew down upon him. He had waited, with all the stoicism of the born gambler, for the crash and it had not come; he had taken the chance; to use his own expression, he "stood pat."

At six o'clock he threw away his half-smoked cigar and sauntered forth from the hotel. The Colonel was very punctilious in that respect: he made it a point not to smoke in the street.

Although he was now quite comfortably sure that there was no immediate danger of arrest, he still was confronted by the ugly certainty that Tom Braddock was hard upon his heels and that no amount of persuasion could have turned him from his purpose. His blood went cold from time to time when he permitted himself to recall the set, implacable expression in the man's face, and the tigerish strength that marked every repressed movement of his body. Robert Grand knew that Braddock's sole object in life now was to kill him. He knew that the meeting could not long be deferred; and when it came, he would not have one chance in a thousand against this wily, determined giant. Braddock would accomplish his end, of that he was as sure as he was certain that the sun would rise in the morning. It was in the cards. He knew. He was a true-born gambler, with all the instincts, all the wiles, all the insight of one who courts Chance and fights it at the same time. Such men as Robert Grand go on defying Fate to the bitter end, but they know that there will be an end, and in the end they are bound to lose.

This man, a lifelong tempter of Fate, had learned early in the game that the gravest errors in the category of crime came under that lachrymose heading, "wasted energy." Men of his stamp make it a point never to do anything that may be safely left undone, nor are they guilty of overlooking the act that should be performed. They think quickly and soundly, and they act at the proper time: never too soon, never too late.

He had an object in remaining in his rooms during the afternoon, just as he had a purpose in venturing forth at six. That was the hour when the streets were crowded to their capacity by restless homeward-bound pedestrians, and the saloons, by those who paused in their haste. His tall, slightly stooped figure moved through the hurrying throng until he came to one of the most famous of the sporting bars. He entered, and, without looking to right or left, made his way to the small café in the rear. A man seated at one of the little tables looked up and nodded. Grand took the chair opposite to this person and, after an exchange of greetings for the benefit of the waiter, ordered oysters and a pint of musty ale. The Colonel had his principal meal at midnight.

"Do you know where Braddock is?" he demanded as soon as the waiter had left the table.

"Sure," said the man opposite. "He's laying low in that dive over on—"

"Nothing of the kind," interrupted Grand sharply. Fixing him with his cold, steady eyes, he went on: "You are a wonderful spotter, you are. So you've been watching that place over there all day, have you? And you are sure he's there, eh? Well, let me tell you how damned worthless you are. I expected you'd have him behind the bars before ten o'clock, but—"

"Say, Colonel, on the square, the police here are the slowest bunch of—"

"Never mind," snapped the Colonel. "He's still at large, and he's not over there at Dick Cronk's. So much for your fine detective work."

The man was an operative for one of the biggest private detective agencies in New York. It was his duty, and had been for years, to watch the police in order that Colonel Grand's sub rosa interests might be preserved from the fatal inconstancies of a greedy department.

Just now he was devoting his time to Tom Braddock, laying the trap for the one man his employer feared more than he feared all the laws of the land and all the authorities behind them.

The Colonel related his experiences of the morning. The private detective perspired freely. He realized how near his employer had been to death, and all through him. All efforts to explain his unhappy mistake met with curt interruptions from the Colonel.

"Now," said that worthy, in conclusion, "I want you to find out if Braddock has returned to Cronk's place. Naturally the police could not find him this afternoon. He wasn't there. But he may go back to-night. His wife won't be able to hold him under her thumb. Find this Cronk fellow—the deformed one, I mean—and tell him I want to see him. Tell him it is worth just one thousand dollars to him, and possibly five times that amount. Send him up the rear stairway at Broadso's. I'll be in room five until twelve o'clock to-night. Any time after eight he will find me there—alone. You know where he lives; go and find him. Then make sure that Braddock is at Dick Cronk's room. That's all."

At half-past eight o'clock that evening Ernie Cronk stole up the stairway in the rear of Broads's saloon. He slunk down the narrow, dimly-lighted hallway until he came to a door which bore the numeral five. For a full minute he stood there irresolute, held inactive by the two mental elements that bear such close kinship to each other—apprehension and greed. At last, with a stealthy glance at the lighted transoms down the hall, he tapped on the panel of the door. Colonel Grand himself opened the door and held it ajar that he might enter.

The hunchback glanced quickly around the room. He had never been there before, but he knew in an instant where he was and what manner of traffic was carried on in this small, close room with the green-covered table in the center, over which was suspended a fully lighted chandelier. The door closed gently behind him and a key was turned in the lock. Like a trapped rat, he whirled at this ominous sound.

Colonel Grand, smiling suavely, stood between him and the door.

"Don't be alarmed, Ernie," said he in his oiliest tones. "Sit down, my lad. We're quite alone and we won't be disturbed. I am master of the hall, as they would say in England."

He motioned to a chair beyond the table, and, bowing politely, settled himself in one nearer the door.

"What's the game?" demanded Ernie Cronk, his long, bony fingers fumbling his flat derby hat. "Brown said you wanted to see me."

"Where's your brother Dick?" asked the Colonel irrelevantly, leaning forward a trifle.

"Dick? Why, he's—he's—I don't know where he is. He's got a place of his own somewheres. I don't see much of him these days. I can't afford it, to be honest, Colonel."

"His reputation, eh? Well, I don't blame you. He didn't come over here with you, did he?"

Ernie started. His gaze wavered ever so slightly, but the Colonel noted the change.

"I haven't seen him in a week," said the hunchback steadily.

"You are lying, Ernie. He's across the street now, waiting for you."

"So help me God, Colonel—" began Ernie, but the Colonel checked the denial without ceremony.

"I am just as sure that he came over here with you to-night as I am sure that you are sitting there. I thought you'd bring him. That's why I sent for you. I knew it was the easiest way to get him here. He wouldn't come if I sent for him, but he'd go anywhere on earth if you asked him to. We'll wait a quarter of an hour, Ernie, before we proceed to business. At the end of that period I'll open the door suddenly and we'll find Artful Dick Cronk standing in the hall. To make it all the more interesting I'll present you with ten dollars if he isn't there."

Ernie's ferret-like eyes blinked in sheer amazement. Down in his mean little heart there always had been a dark fear of this rather imposing man; in his mind there was a no uncertain estimate of the Colonel's almost supernatural power to read the thoughts of others.

"If he's outside there I don't know it," he said doggedly.

"You told him I had sent for you, Ernie. Don't lie. I know you did. It's all right. So, you see, my little strategy worked out beautifully. I want to see Dick quite as much as I do you. We'll wait until he comes up to see what's happened to you."

Ernie hesitated, then broke out with an uneasy note in his voice. "You said it would be worth a thousand and maybe more to me. Well, I'm square with Dick. He divides with me. I want to let him in on anything good that comes my way."

"I see. You are willing to divide with him, so you are going to let him in on condition that he will do all the dirty work while you sit back and boss the job. I see. You are a great financier, Ernie."

"You ought to see my new flat over in Eighth Street," said Ernie proudly, quite taken in by the Colonel's none too gentle sarcasm.

"You don't share that with Dick, I imagine."

"Well, hardly!" ejaculated Dick's brother. Suddenly his uneasiness developed into a sort of whining protest. "Say, if you got anything to say to me, say it. I got to be moving along. If I can make a thousand honestly, I'm on the job. What's—"

"We'll wait for Dick," observed the Colonel coolly. He took his time to light a long cigar, the hunchback looking on with curiosity and doubt in his shifty eyes. Then he handed a cigar to his guest. "Have a cigar. I'd offer you a drink, only I don't believe in drinking between friends. Only enemies drink to each other, Ernie. Bear that in mind. Unconscious enemies."

"I don't drink," was the surly rejoinder.

Precisely ten minutes later Colonel Grand got up from his chair. In three strides he was at the door; he turned the key and—

There was Dick Cronk leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, his hands in his pockets, his long legs crossed, his "dicer" on the back of his head. There was no evidence of surprise or confusion in his face; he was as composed, as serene, as if the expected had occurred. A bland smile greeted the triumphant Colonel.

"Evening, Colonel. Have you seen anything of a lost boy around here?"

The other stood aside, giving him a fair view of the room. "Come in, Dick. I've been expecting you," he said quietly.

Dick stared for a second or two longer than he might have done under less trying conditions.

"No, thanks. I'll wait out here," he said dryly. He did not change his attitude in the least.

"We've been waiting for you," said the Colonel. "We can't proceed without you. Do me the honor to step into my parlor." He bowed very deeply.

"'Said the spider to the fly,'" quoth Dick, shifting his foot.

Ernie appeared behind Colonel Grand. He indicated by a significant motion of his head that Dick was to enter, and without delay. Slowly the long pickpocket unwound his legs. He then removed his hands from his pockets, after which he coolly strode into the room. The door was closed quickly after him. There was an inscrutable smile on his face, even before the sharp exclamation of concern fell from the lips of Colonel Grand.

"I've got the key here in my hand, Colonel," he observed, with his gentlest smile. The older man glared for a moment and then broke into a short, even admiring laugh.

"You are a wonder, Dick. You must have wished it out of the door. I'll swear my hand hasn't been off the knob since I opened it a minute ago. How do you do it?"

"Simple twist of the wrist—presto visto, as the feller'd say. Don't worry. I'll leave it in the door when I depart. And say, while we're exchanging compliments, allow me to hand you one. You're something of a wizard, too. I don't wonder you always win at poker if you can see through an oak door as easy as all that."

"We'd better lock the door," urged the other, paying no heed to the remark.

"All right. But, if you don't mind, I'll keep the key." He locked the door and then turned toward Ernie, sudden comprehension in his face. "Oh, you told him I came over with you. That explains it." Ernie protested. He would have repeated the entire conversation that had taken place if the Colonel had not stopped him with considerable acerbity.

"You can talk that over afterwards," he said sharply. Ernie winced. Grand did not observe the ugly gleam that flickered for an instant in Dick Cronk's eyes. "I've got a proposition to make to you fellows."

"What has it got to do with Tom Braddock?" demanded Dick bluntly. He sat on the edge of the table, one foot touching the floor.

The Colonel came to the point without delay.

"There's no sense in beating about the bush with you, I see," he remarked. "I want to get this man Braddock out of the way for good and all. He's a menace to me and I'm willing to pay to have him completely blotted out. You fellows are out for the coin of the realm. You, Dick, get it in dribs by plundering the unwary. It's slow work and dangerous. Ernie lives off of you with something of the voracity of a leech—no offense intended, Ernie. Now, why not turn your hand to something big and definite and safe?" He paused to let the idea sink into Ernie's avaricious soul.

Dick drew a long breath. "Why don't you kill him yourself?" he asked, shooting a quick, apprehensive look at his brother's face. Ernie's eyes were glistening.

"I didn't mention a killing, did I?" retorted Grand, momentarily disturbed. "If I had that in mind, Dick, I daresay I could accomplish it without calling on you for aid. What I want is to see him landed in Sing Sing for a long term of years—the limit, you might say."

"See here, Grand, you've called in the wrong stool-pigeon this time. I'm not in that kind of business. Never in all my life have I put up a job on a pal, never have I done a trick as dirt-mean as that. I guess you'll have to count me and Ernie out."

"Don't go off half-cocked, Dick," admonished the Colonel easily. "You're no fool, nor is Ernie. It's worth just ten thousand between you if Tom Braddock is landed to-night, with the goods on him, so to speak. Two thousand down, the balance—"

"You infernal beast!" snarled Dick, standing squarely in front of him and glaring into his eyes with a scorn so shriveling that the other drew back with an oath. "So that's what you wanted with Ernie, is it? Through him you hoped to get me to do the trick, eh? Well, you've slipped up good and hard on me. I—"

Ernie, his lips twitching, his fingers working, seized his brother's arm and pulled him back.

"Wait a minute, Dick,—listen to me," he fairly croaked in his excitement. "Let's hear what his plan is. Maybe we can see a way to help him. Le' me talk, Dick. Leave it to me. I'm smart and sensible. You're off your nut to-night. Just le' me do the talking."

"That's right," cried the Colonel quickly. He recognized an asset in Ernie's despicable greed.

Dick shook off his brother's hand. "No! This is no business of yours, Ernie. I'm the one he wants to dicker with. You can't put up a job on Brad and he knows it. He's just using you to land me. Not for ten million, Grand. Do you get that?"

"Don't shout so that they can hear you in the street," cried Grand, scowling deeply. "Let me have a few words with Ernie."

"Yes, Dick, you'd better shut up," added Ernie eagerly. "I'll just talk it over with the Colonel. If we find we can't do it, why, we'll tell him so, that's all. I tell you ten thousand's a lot of money. We could open the nicest kind of a cigar stand with that, and live like honest, respectable men ever afterward."

Dick sank back against the table and studied his brother's livid face with the darkest despair in his eyes. His shoulders drooped suddenly.

"Honest and respectable?" he said, passing his hand over his eyes. "You mean, you could be all of that, but where would I come in? Would you let me stand behind the showcase in your fine store? Would I ever get so much as a pipeful of tobacco out of it? No! Don't try to argue with me, Ernie; my mind's made up. I came here to-night just to save you from a game like this. I knowed you'd be for it strong, and I'd just have to do it if I wasn't here in the beginning to cork it. Look here, Grand, I don't know just what your plan is, but I'll tell you this: I'll blow on you as sure as I'm alive if you try to carry it out. Tom Braddock is an honest man these days. He's not a whiskey-soaked bum any longer. He cracked me over the head this morning—you can see the plaster there—but I don't hold it up against him. He considers me his friend because I swore I'd stand by him if he'd hold back on getting you right away. He trusts me and he thinks you're all right, too, Ernie. Now, once and for all, I'm not in on this dirty work. And neither is Ernie!"

Colonel Grand sat motionless before the angry young man, quietly tapping on the table with his long, white fingers, a faint smile on his half-crescent mouth.

"We'll see," he said deliberately. "Perhaps you'd better let Ernie do the talking. I don't believe you are as wise and discreet as you might be, Dick."

Dick whirled upon Ernie, who stood behind him. The hunchback was staring at him with a strange, unfamiliar expression in his face. It was a look of combined wonder and awe.

"Come on, Ernie. Let's get out of here."

"Just a moment, Ernie," interposed the Colonel. "Sit down and listen to what I have to say."

But, for the first time since it entered his body, Ernie's soul arose above the sordid flesh. It came as from a great distance and slowly, but it came to take its frightened, subdued stand beside its kin.

"I guess I'll be going," he said, and even as he uttered the words he wondered why he did so. "Ten thousand's a lot of money, but if Dick thinks it's too dirty for us to touch, why, I'm with him. You can count me out." He put on his hat and started toward the door.

Dick could hardly believe his ears. "Great Scott, Ernie, you—you— Well, you're just great, kid!"

"Just a minute," said Grand, arising slowly, an ominous glitter in his eyes. He towered above the hunchback, who was near the door. "I don't intend to let you go until you've heard all I have to say."

"Get out of the way, Grand," said the pickpocket, his fingers clenched so tightly that the backs of his hands were white.

"There's only one way to handle swine of your breed," sneered Grand; "and that is with a club. You are a fine, virtuous pair, you are. I've got a job for you to do to-night, and I have the means of compelling you to do it. You must not get it into your heads that I did not prepare myself for either view you might take of the matter. I'm not such an idiot as all that. Now we'll indulge in a little plain talk. You are a couple of low-down sneak thieves, both of you. Of the—"

"Hold on, Grand!" snapped Dick. "None of that!"

"Of the two, Ernie is the lower. You miserable, misshapen scoundrel, you are worse than the vilest thief that ever lived. Dick is an angel compared—"

"I'll get you for that!" quavered Dick, so shaken by rage that he could scarcely hold himself erect.

"No, you won't," squeaked Ernie. "I'll get him! I'll cut his heart out!"

Grand reached out with his left hand and touched a button in the wall. In the other hand gleamed a revolver.

"If I press either the button or the trigger it will mean the end of you, you dogs. Now, listen to me. At the foot of the stairs are two policemen and a couple of detectives. They were duped into coming here by the word that a sucker was to be fleeced in Broadso's rooms to-night. All I have to do is to press the button and call for help. This hallway will swarm with waiters and men from all the rooms, and the cops will come on the run. I have nothing to do but to turn you over to them as a couple of thieves who came here to rob me. Trust me to make out a case against you."

"I'm no thief!" shouted Ernie. Dick was looking about, like a rat in a trap, his teeth showing in the desperation of alarm.

"You fellows will come to terms with me inside of two minutes or I'll land you both in the pen so quickly you won't know it's been done. I want this man Braddock put out of the way. I've got two men waiting to go with you, so don't imagine that you can play me false after you leave this room. It is all cut and dried. You are to carry out a plan I have for landing Braddock. The police will—"

"I'll see you hanged first," grated Dick Cronk. "You are the king of crooks, you are."

"Don't let him call the police, Dick," whined Ernie, shrinking back against the wall. "I'm no thief. I won't go to jail! I won't!"

"Well, that's just where you'll land, my handsome bucko," said the malevolent Colonel. "Dick won't mind it, but it will be a new experience for you, your reverence. 'Gad, you toad!"

"Let me go!" cried Ernie. "Keep Dick here, but let me out. Dick will help you, honest he will. I'm no thief. You wouldn't send me to jail!"

"Oh, I wouldn't, eh?" snarled the other. "You'll look fine in stripes, you will. And nothing under the sun can save you if I push this button. Ten years, that's what it will be. The Cronk brothers! The sick brothers! Why, a jury would give you the full limit. It will please your brother, after all these years, to see you doing time— Here! Drop that, curse you!"

There was a deafening report, a blinding flash and a cloud of smoke. Then a gurgling groan, the scraping of a heavy body against the wall, and Colonel Grand slid to the floor, his arms and legs writhing in the last tremendous spasm of death.

Neither of the Cronks moved for a full half-minute. They gazed as if stupefied at the bloody face of the great gambler; they saw his legs stiffen and his chest swell widely and then collapse.

"Give me the key!" It was a whispered shriek that leaped from the lips of the hunchback. "Good God, he's dead! They'll hang us!"

He sprang to Dick's side and snatched the door key from his stiff fingers. As he leaped toward the door, through the powder-smoke, he stumbled over the body of the dead man. He crashed to the floor but was up again in a flash, gasping, groaning with terror. An instant later he was in the hall. Like a cat he sped past the still closed doorways beyond and reached the stairway before a human being appeared in sight.

Half-way down stairs he met men rushing upward, attracted by the pistol shot. He actually tried to clear their heads in a frantic leap. He was caught in the air, struggling and kicking furiously, to be borne down and held by strong arms. Shrieking with rage and terror, he fought like a wild cat.

"I didn't do it!" he screamed, over and over again, foaming at the mouth. "It wasn't me! It wasn't me! Oh, God! Oh, God!"

Some one struck him a violent blow on the mouth. The foam was red from that time on. In the hallway above there were shouts and the sounds of rushing footsteps. Loud oaths of amazement came ringing down the corridor. A man in his shirt sleeves appeared at the top of the stairs, his face livid with excitement.

"Hang on to him!" he shouted. "Don't let him get away. We've got the other one!"

"What's the matter up there?" grunted one of the two officers holding Ernie, whose feet were now braced against the steps in the effort to keep them from dragging him upward.

"I didn't do it!" he panted between his teeth. "Search me! See if I have a revolver! I never carry a gun. Dick always carries one. Let me go! Let me go! Why don't you go and get Dick?"

"Shut up, you!"

They dragged him to the door of No. 5. He caught sight of his brother standing between two men near the body of Colonel Grand, beside which a coatless man was kneeling. Another man was going through the pockets of the tall, glassy-eyed prisoner.

From an inner pocket the searcher drew forth a revolver. With nervous fingers he broke the weapon. A cry fell from his lips.

"Here's the gun. One shell empty. Barrel still hot. You low-lived scoundrel!"

Dick's eyes never left the bloody face of the murdered man. He was breathing heavily, as if in pain or extreme terror.

"Is he dead?" he whispered through his bloodless, motionless lips. Just then he looked up and saw Ernie at the doorway, bloody-faced, cringing, wide-eyed with dread. Two burly policemen were dangling his ill-favored body almost clear of the floor.

"Dead as a door-nail," said the kneeling man. "Here's his gun with all the chambers full. He didn't have a chance to shoot. Say, this is the worst thing I've ever heard of. You'll swing for this, you dog!"

Ernie sent up a shriek. "Swing for it! I didn't do it! You can't prove anything on me. Can they, Dick? What are you holding me for? Let go! I'm an honest, respectable citizen of New York. I'm—"

"Call a wagon," shouted one of the officers to a newcomer. "Nasty job here. We've got the murderer all right." Dick straightened up at this. He turned to look at the condemning pistol in the hand of the man who had taken it from his pocket. A great shudder shook his frame.

"You got me all right," he said. "You won't believe it, of course, but he pulled a gun first. I had to shoot. Get me out of this. If you don't I'll kick his face to a jelly. I've always wanted to." He glanced at Ernie, a crooked smile on his lips.

"Well, Ernie, I guess it's going to come true. I always said it would."