“Ah!” quoth the Spider sagely, “hark to ‘em howl! That means some guy’s gettin’ his, alright. Listen to ‘em; they love t’ get blood for their entrance money, an’ they’re sure gettin’ it. Some one’s bein’ knocked out—come on!”

It was a dark night, for there was no moon and the stars were hidden; thus, as Ravenslee followed the Spider, he found himself stumbling over the uneven ground of a vacant lot, a lonely place beyond which lay the distant river. At last they reached various outbuildings, looming up ugly and ungainly in the dimness.

“Say, bo,” said the Spider, stopping suddenly at a small and narrow door, “you’d best wait here and lemme go first.”

“No, we’ll go together.”

“Right-o, only be ready to make a quick get-away!”

So saying, the Spider opened the door and, closely followed by Ravenslee, stepped into a dimly-lit passage thick with the blue vapour of cigars and cigarettes. It was a long, narrow corridor, bare and uncarpeted, seeming to run the length of the building; on one hand was a row of dingy windows and on the other were several doors, from behind which came the sound of many voices that talked and sang and swore together, a very babel.

At the end of this passage was yet another door which gave upon a small room that contained a rickety sofa, a chair, and a battered desk; a kerosene lamp suspended against the wall burned dimly, and it was into this chamber that the Spider ushered Ravenslee somewhat hastily; the Spider’s eyes were very bright, and he chewed rather more fiercely than usual.

“Bo,” said he, “this place ain’t exactly a bed o’ roses for a strange guy like you. Y’ see, this is Bud’s own stampin’-ground, an’ the whole bunch is here t’night, and most of ‘em are heeled. Soapy an’ Bud always tote guns, I know. So I guess you’d better mark time here a bit while I chase around an’ locate th’ Kid. If any one asks what you’re doin’ around here, say as you come in with me. But, bo”—and here the Spider laid an impressive hand on Ravenslee’s arm—”if you should happen t’ see Bud, well, don’t stop to look twice but beat it—let it be th’ door or winder for yours—only—beat it!”

“Oh, why?”

“Well, I know Bud’s got it in fer you; I heard him say—oh, well, if his gun should go off—accidental-like, this place ain’t exactly Broadway or Fifth Av’noo, bo—see?”

“I see!” nodded Ravenslee.

“Hold on!” said Spider, and crossing to the window, he unlatched it stealthily and lifted it high, “if I ain’t back inside of ten minutes, bo, nip out through here and hike; wait for me at the lamp-post across the lot over there—it’ll be safer. D’ye get me?”

“I do!” nodded Ravenslee.

“I guess you’d be less of a fool if you was to get out now an’ wait—outside!” Spider suggested.

Ravenslee shook his head.

“I’ll wait here,” said he, “there are times when I can be as big a fool as the next, Spider, and this is one of them.”

“That’s so!” nodded the Spider, and chewing viciously, he turned and was gone, to be hailed a few minutes later in uproarious greeting by many discordant voices which died slowly to a droning hum above which came sounds more distant, shouts and cheers from the auditorium.

Left alone, Ravenslee looked about him, and then espied a newspaper that lay upon the desk. Idly taking it up, his gaze was attracted by these words, printed in large black letters:

NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL RUN TO EARTH JACOB HEINE THE GUN-MAN ARRESTED IN JERSEY CITY

Below in small type he read this:

Jacob Heine, believed to be the perpetrator of several mysterious shooting affrays, and member of a dangerous West Side gang, was arrested to-day.

The light being dim, Ravenslee drew closer to the lamp, and standing thus against the light, his face was in shadow—also his long figure was silhouetted upon the opposite wall, plain to be seen by any one opening the door. Suddenly, as he stood with head bent above the paper, this door opened suddenly, and M’Ginnis entered; he also held a paper, and now he spoke without troubling to lift his scowling gaze from the printed column he was scanning:

“That you, Lefty? Here’s a hell of a mix-up—that dog-gone fool Heine’s got himself pinched—and in Jersey City too! I told him t’ stay around here till things was quiet! It’s goin’ t’ be a hell of a job t’ fix things for him over there—’t ain’t like N’ York. But we got t’ fix things for him or chance him squealing on th’ rest of us, but what beats me is—”

M’Ginnis’s teeth clicked together, and the paper tore suddenly between his hands as, glancing up at last, he beheld two keen, grey eyes that watched him and a mouth, grim and close-lipped, that curled in the smile Spider didn’t like.

For a long, tense moment they stood motionless, eye to eye, then, reaching behind him, M’Ginnis locked the door, and drawing out the key, thrust it into his pocket.

“So—I got ye at last—have I?” said he slowly.

“And I’ve got you,” said Ravenslee pleasantly; “we seem to have got each other, don’t we?”

“See here, you,” said M’Ginnis, his massive shoulders squared, his big chin viciously outthrust, “you’re goin’ t’ leave Mulligan’s, see?”

“Am I?” said Ravenslee, lounging upon a corner of the battered desk.

“You sure are,” nodded M’Ginnis. “Hell’s Kitchen ain’t big enough for you an’ me, I guess; you’re goin’ because I say so, an’ you’re goin’ t’night!”

“You surprise me!” said Ravenslee sleepily.

“You’re goin’ t’ quit Hell’s Kitchen for good and—you ain’t comin’ back!”

“You amaze me!” and Ravenslee yawned behind his hand.

“An’ now you’re goin’ t’ listen why an’ wherefore—if you can keep awake a minute!”

“I’ll try, Mr. Flowers, I’ll try.”

M’Ginnis thrust clenched hands into his pockets and surveyed Ravenslee with scornful eyes—his lounging figure and stooping shoulders, his long, white hands and general listless air.

“God!” he exclaimed, “that she should trouble t’ look twice at such a nancy-boy!” and he spat, loud and contemptuously.

“Almost think you’re trying to be rude, Mr. Flowers.”

“Aw—I couldn’t be, to a—thing like you! An’ see here—me name’s M’Ginnis!”

“But then,” sighed Ravenslee, “I prefer to call you Flowers—a fair name for a foul thing—”

M’Ginnis made a swift step forward and halted, hard-breathing and menacing.

“How much?” he demanded.

“Fair name for a very foul thing, Mr. Flowers,” repeated Ravenslee, glancing up at him from under slumberous, drooping lids—”anyway, Flowers you will remain!”

As they stared again, eye to eye, M’Ginnis edged nearer and nearer, head thrust forward, until Ravenslee could see the cords that writhed and swelled in his big throat, and he hitched forward a languid shoulder. “Don’t come any nearer, Flowers,” said he, “and don’t stick out your jaw like that—don’t do it; I might be tempted to try to—er—hit it!”

“What—you?” said M’Ginnis, and laughed hoarsely, while Ravenslee yawned again.

“An’ now, Mr. Butt-in, if you’re still awake—listen here. I guess it’s about time you stopped foolin’ around Hermy Chesterton—an’ you’re goin’ t’ quit—see!” Ravenslee’s eyes flashed suddenly, then drooped as M’Ginnis continued: “So you’re goin’ t’ sit down right here, an’ you’re goin’ t’ write a nice little note of farewell, an’ you’re goin’ t’ tell her as you love her an’ leave her because I say so—see? Ah!” he cried, suddenly hoarse and anger-choked, “d’ ye think I’ll let Hermy look at a thing like you—do ye?—do ye?” and he waited. Ravenslee sat utterly still, and when at last he spoke his voice sounded even more gentle than before.

“My good Flowers, there is just one thing you shall not do, and that is, speak her name in my hearing. You’re not fit to, and, Mr. Flowers, I’ll not permit it.”

“Is that so?” snarled M’Ginnis, “well, then, listen some more. I know as you’re always hangin’ around her flat, and if Hermy don’t care about losing her good name—”

Even as Ravenslee’s long arm shot out, M’Ginnis side-stepped the blow, and Ravenslee found himself staring into the muzzle of a revolver.

“Ah—I thought so!” he breathed, and shrank away.

“Kind of alters things, don’t it?” enquired M’Ginnis, hoarse and jeering. “Well, if you don’t want it to go off, sit down an’ write Hermy as pretty a little note as you can—no, shut that window first.”

Silent and speechless, Ravenslee crossed to the window and drew down the sash, in doing which he noticed a dark something that crouched beneath the sill.

“An’ now,” said M’Ginnis, leaning against a corner of the desk, “sit down here, nice an’ close, an’ write that letter—there’s pen an’ ink an’ paper—an’ quick about it or by—”

M’Ginnis sprang up and turned as the glass of the window splintered to fragments, and, almost with the crash, Ravenslee leapt—a fierce twist, a vicious wrench, and the deadly weapon had changed hands.

“Lucky it didn’t go off,” said Ravenslee, smiling grimly at the revolver he held, “others might have heard, and, Mr. Flowers, I want to be alone with you just a little longer. Of course, I might shoot you for the murderous beast you are, or I might walk you over to the nearest police depot for the crook I think you are—but—oh, well, of late I’ve been yearning to get my hands on you and so”—Ravenslee turned and pitched the revolver through the broken window. But, almost as the weapon left his hand, M’Ginnis was upon him, and, reeling from the blow, Ravenslee staggered blindly across the room, till stayed by the wall, and sank there, crouched and groaning, his face hidden in his hands.

With a cry hoarse and fierce, M’Ginnis followed and stooped, eager to make an end—stooped to be met by two fierce hands, sure hands and strong, that grasped his silken neckerchief as this crouching figure rose suddenly erect. So for a wild, panting moment they grappled, swaying grimly to and fro, while ever the silken neckerchief was twisted tight and tighter. Choking now, M’Ginnis felt fingers on his naked throat, iron fingers that clutched cruelly, and in this painful grip was whirled, choking, against the wall and thence borne down and down. And now M’Ginnis, lying helpless across his opponent’s knee, stared up into a face pale but grimly joyous, lips that curled back from gnashing white teeth—eyes that glared merciless. So Ravenslee bent M’Ginnis back across his knee and choked him there awhile, then suddenly relaxed his hold and let M’Ginnis sink, gasping, to the floor.