Traffic in Souls: A Novel of Crime and Its Cure

by Eustace Hale Ball

  CHAPTER XIV

  CHARITY AND THE MULTITUDE OF SINS

  In the outer office of William Trubus an amiable little scene was beingenacted, far different from the harrowing ones which had made up thelast twelve hours for poor Mary.

  Miss Emerson, the telephone girl, was engaged in animated repartee withthat financial genius of the "Mercantile Agency," with whose workingsthe reader may have a slight familiarity, located on the floor below ofthe same Fifth Avenue building.

  "Yes, dearie, during business hours I'm as hard as nails, but when Ishut up my desk I'm just as good a fellow as the next one. All workand no play gathers no moss," remarked Mr. John Clemm.

  "You're a comical fellow, Mr. Clemm. I'd just love to go out to-night,as you suggest. And if you've got a gent acquaintance who is like you,I have the swellest little lady friend you ever seen. Her name isClarice, and she is a manicure girl at the Astor. We might have afoursome, you know."

  "That's right, girlie," responded Clemm, as he ingratiatingly placed anarm about her wasp-like waist. "But two's company, and four's too muchof a corporation for me."

  "Oh, Mr. Clemm--nix on this in here--Mr. Trubus is in his office, andhe'll get wise...."

  As she spoke, not Mr. Trubus, but his estimable wife interrupted theprogress of the courtship. She walked into the doorway, from theelevator corridor, holding Mary's arm.

  As she saw the lover-like attitude of the plump Mr. Clemm, she gasped,and then burst out in righteous indignation.

  "Why, you shameless girl, what do you mean by such actions in theoffice of the Purity League? I shall tell my husband at once!"

  Miss Emerson sprang away from the amorous entanglement with Mr. Clemmand tried to say something. She could think of nothing which befittedthe occasion; all her glib eloquence was temporarily asphyxiated. Mr.Clemm stammered and looked about for some hole in which to concealhimself. He, too, seemed far different from the pugnacious,self-confident dictator who reigned supreme on the floor below.

  "William! William Trubus!" called the philanthropist's wife angrily.Her husband heard from within, and he opened the door with a thoroughlystartled look.

  "My dear wife!" he began, purring and somewhat uncertain as to thecause of the trouble. Mary, nervous as she was, observed a curiousinterchange of glances between the two men.

  "William, I find this brazen creature standing here hugging this man,as though your office, the Purity League's headquarters, were someLover's Lane! It is disgusting."

  "Well, well, my dear," stammered Trubus. "Don't be too harsh."

  "I am not harsh, but I have too much respect for you and the highideals for which I know you battle every hour of the day to endure sucha thing. Suppose the Bishop had come in instead of myself? Would heconsider such actions creditable to the great purpose for which thechurch takes up collections twice each year throughout his diocese?"

  Trubus tilted back and forth on his toes and tapped the ends of hisplump fingers together. He was sparring for time. The girl looked athim saucily, and the offending visitor shrugged his shoulders as hequietly started for the door.

  "Tut, tut, my dear! I shall reprimand the girl."

  "You shall discharge her at once!" insisted Mrs. Trubus, her eyesflashing. "She will disgrace the office and the great cause."

  Trubus was in a quandary. He looked about him. Miss Emerson, with aconfident smile, walked toward the general office on the left.

  "I should worry about this job. I'm sick of this charity stuff anyway.I'm going to get a cinch job with a swell broker I know. He runs a lotof bunco games, too--but he admits. Don't let the old lady worry aboutme, Mr. Trubus, but don't forget that I've got two weeks' salary comingto me. And you just raised my weekly insult to twenty-five dollarslast Saturday, you know, Mr. Trubus."

  With this Parthian shot, she slammed the door of the generalstenographers' room, and left Mr. Trubus to face his irate wife.

  "You pay that girl twenty-five dollars for attending to a telephone,William? Why, that's more money than you earned when we had beenmarried ten years. Twenty-five dollars a week for a telephone girl!"

  "There, my dear, it is quite natural. She is especially tactful andworth it," said Trubus, in embarrassment. "You are not exactly tactfulyourself, my dear, to nag me in front of an employee. As theScriptures say, a gentle wife...."

  Mrs. Trubus gave the philanthropist one deep look which seemed to causeaphasia on the remainder of the Scriptural quotation.

  For the first time Trubus noticed Mary Barton, standing in embarrassedsilence by the door, wishing that she could escape from the scene.

  "Who is this young person, my dear?"

  "This is a young girl who is in deep trouble, and without a positionthrough no fault of her own. I brought her down to your office to haveyou help her, William."

  "But, alas, our finances are so low that we have no room for anyadditional office force," began Trubus.

  "There, that will do. If you pay twenty-five dollars a week to thetelephone operator no wonder the finances are low. You have justdischarged her, and I insist on your giving this young lady anopportunity."

  Trubus reddened, and tried to object.

  But his good wife overruled him.

  "Have you ever used a switchboard, miss?" he began.

  "Yes, sir. In my last position I began on the switchboard, and workedthat way for nearly two months. I am sure I can do it."

  Trubus did not seem so optimistic. But, at his wife's silentargument--looks more eloquent than a half hour of oratory, he noddedgrudgingly.

  "Well, you can start in. Just hang your hat over on the wall hook.Come into my office, my dear wife."

  They entered, and Mary sat down, still in a daze. She had been sosuddenly discharged and then employed again that it seemed a dream.Even the terrible hours of the night seemed some hideous nightmarerather than reality.

  Miss Emerson came from the side room, attired in a street garb whichwould have brought envy to many a chorus girl.

  "Oh, my dear, and so you are to follow my job. Well, I wish you joy,sweetie. Tell Papa Trubus that I'll be back after lunch time for mycheck. And keep your lamps rolling on the old gink and he'll raiseyour salary once a month. He's not such a dead one if he is strong onthis charity game. Life with Trubus is just one telephone girl afteranother ... ta, ta, dearie. I'm off stage."

  And she departed, leaving simple Mary decidedly mystified by herdiatribe.

  A few minutes brought another diversion. This time it was SylviaTrubus and Ralph Gresham, her fiance, come for a call.

  "Is my father in?" she asked, absorbed in the well groomed, selfishyoung man. Mary rang the private bell and announced Miss Trubus. Herfather hurried to the door, and when he saw his prospective son-in-lawhis face wreathed in smiles.

  "Ah, Mr. Gresham, Ralph, I might say, I am delighted! Come right in!"

  Mary was startled as she heard the name of the young girl's sweetheart.

  "I'm afraid that she will not be as happy as she thinks, if daddy hastold me right about Ralph Gresham. But, oh, if I could hear somethingfrom Bobbie about Lorna. I believe I will call him up."

  She was just summoning the courage for a private call when the privateoffice door opened, and Gresham, Sylvia, her mother and Trubus emerged.

  "I will return in ten minutes, Miss," said Trubus. "If there are anycalls just take a record of them. Allow no one to go into my privateoffice."

  "Yes, sir."

  Mary waited patiently for a few moments, when suddenly a telephone bellbegan to jangle inside the private office.

  "That's curious," she murmured, looking at her own key-board. "There'sno connection." Again she heard it, insistent, yet muffled.

  She walked to the door and opened it. As she did so the wind blew infrom the open casement, making a strong draught. Half a dozen papersblew from Trubus' desk to the floor. Frightened lest herinquisitiveness should cause trouble, Mary hurriedly stooped and pickedup the papers, ca
rrying them back to the desk. As she leaned over itshe noticed a curious little metal box, glass-covered. Under thisglass an automatic pencil was writing by electrical connection.

  "What on earth can that be?" she wondered. The bell tinkled, in itsmuffled way, once more.

  The moving pencil went on. She watched it, fascinated, even at therisk of being caught, hardly realizing that she was doing what might betermed a dishonorable act.

  "Paid Sawyer $250. Girl safe, but still unconscious."

  Mary's heart beat suddenly. The thought of her own sister was soburdensome upon her own mind that the mention by this mysteriouscommunication of a girl, "safe but still unconscious," strung hernerves as though with an electric shock. She leaned over the littlerecording instrument, which was built on a hinged shelf that could becunningly swung into the desk body, and covered with a false front. Asshe did so she saw a curious little instrument, shaped somewhat likethe receiver of a telephone receiver. Mary's experience with herfather's work told her what that instrument was.

  "A dictagraph!" she exclaimed.

  Instinctively she picked it up, and heard a conversation which was sostartling in its import to herself that her heart seemed to congeal foran instant.

  "I tell you, Jack, the girl is still absolutely out of it. We can riskshipping her anywhere the way she is now. I chloroformed her in theauto as soon as we got away from the candy store. But that Burkenearly had us, for I saw him coming."

  "You will have to dispose of her to-day, Shepard. Give her some strongcoffee--a good stiff needleful of cocaine will bring her around. Dosomething, that's all, or you don't get a red cent of the remainingthree hundred. Now, I'm a busy man. You'll have to talk louder, too,my hearing isn't what it used to be."

  "Say, Clemm, quit this kidding about your ears. I've tried you out andyou can hear better than I can. There's some game you're working on meand if there is, I'll...."

  "Can the tragedy, Shepard. Save it for that famous whipping stunt ofyours. Beat this girl up a bit, and tell me where she is."

  "I'll do that in an hour, and not a minute sooner, and I've got to havethe other three hundred."

  Mary dropped the receiver. She wanted to know where that conversationcould come from. Down the side of the desk she traced a delicate wire.Under the rug it went, and across to the window. She looked out. Afire escape passed the window. It was open. She saw the little wirecross through the woodwork to the outside brick construction and downthe wall. Softly she clambered down the fire-escape until she couldpeer through the window on the floor below.

  There at a desk, in the private office of the "Mercantile" association,sat the man who had been hugging her predecessor at Trubus'switchboard, the man who had exchanged the curious looks with thephilanthropist. Talking to him was the man who had taken her sisteraway from the candy store the day before!

  Hurriedly she climbed back up the fire escape into the window, outthrough the door of the private office, closing it behind her.

  She telephoned Bobbie at the station house. Fortunately he was there.She gave him her address, and before he could express his surprisebegged him to hurry to the doorway of the building and wait for her.

  He promised.

  Mary kept her nerves as quiet as she could, praying that the man Sawyerwould not leave before she could follow him with Bobbie. In a fewminutes one of the girls from the stenography room came out. Seeingthat she was the new girl the young woman spoke: "Do you want me torelieve you while you go to lunch. I'm not going out to-day. I'm soglad to see anyone here but that fresh Miss Emerson that it will be apleasure."

  "Thank you. I do want to go now," said Mary nervously. She hurriedlydonned her hat and rushed down to the street. Bobbie was waiting forher, as he had lost not a minute.

  They waited behind the big door column for several minutes. Suddenly aman came swinging through the portal. It was Sawyer.

  Bobbie remembered him instantly, while Mary gripped his arm until shepinched it.

  "We'll follow him," said Burke, for the girl had already told of thedictagraph conversation.

  Follow him they did. Up one street and down another. At last the manled them over into Burke's own precinct. He ascended the iron steps ofan old-fashioned house which had once been a splendid mansion ingenerations gone by.

  "Ah, that's where Lorna is hidden, as sure as you're standing here,Mary. From what he said no harm has come to her yet. Hurry with me tothe station house, and we'll have the reserves go through that house ina jiffy."

  It took not more than ten minutes for the police to surround the house.But disappointment was their only reward. Somehow or other the rascalshad received a tip of premonition of trouble; perhaps Shepard wassuspicious of his principals, and wished to move the girl out of theirreach.

  The house was empty, except for a few pieces of furniture.

  "Look!" cried Mary, as she went through the rooms with Bob. "There isa handkerchief. She snatched it up. It was one of her own, with theinitials "M. B." in a monogram.

  "Lorna has been here," she exclaimed. "I remember handing her thatvery handkerchief when we were in the store yesterday."

  "What's to be done now?" thought Bobbie. "We had better go up to yourfather and tell him what we know--it is not as bad as it might havebeen."

  "Precious little comfort," sighed Mary, exhausted beyond tears.

  They reached the desolate home, and Bob broke the news to the old man.As Mary poured forth her story of the discovery in Trubus' office, herfather's face lighted with renewed hope.

  To their surprise he laughed, softly, and then spoke:

  "Mary, my child, my long hours of study and labor on my own inventionhave not been in vain. My dictagraph-recorder--this very model here,which I have just completed shall be put to its first great test tosave my own daughter. Heaven could reward me in no more wonderfulmanner than to let it help in the rescue of little Lorna--why did I notthink of it sooner?"

  "What shall we do, father?" breathlessly cried Mary.

  "Can I help, Mr. Barton?"

  "Describe the arrangement of the offices."

  Mary rapidly limned the plan of the headquarters of the Purity League.Her father nodded and his lips moved as he repeated her words in awhisper.

  "I have it now. You must put the instrument under the telephoneswitchboard table," he directed. "Pile up a waste-basket, or somethingthat is handy to keep it out of view. I have already adjusted enoughfresh cylinders to record at least one hour of conversation. Thismachine is run by an automatic spring, which you must wind like aclock. Here I will wind it myself to have all in readiness."

  He rolled his chair swiftly to his work table, and turned the littlecrank, continuing his plan of attack.

  "Now, take the long wire, and run it through the door of the privateoffice up close to the desk. Attach this disc to the dictagraphreceiver. It is so small, and the wiring so fine that it will not benoticed if it is done correctly. Here, Burke. I will do it now tothis loose dictagraph receiver. Watch me."

  The old man worked swiftly.

  Burke scrutinized each move, and nodded in understanding.

  "Be careful to cover the wire along the floor with a rug--he must neverbe allowed to see that, you know. After you have all this prepared,Mary, you must start the mechanism going, and then get the reproductionof the conversation as it comes on the dictagraph."

  "All right, father--but how shall we get it there without Mr. Trubusknowing about it? He is very watchful of that room."

  Barton patted Bobbie's broad shoulder, with a confident smile.

  "I think Officer 4434 can devise a way for that. He has had hardertasks and won out. Now, hurry down with the machine. It is a bitheavy. You had better take it in a taxicab. You will spend all yourmoney on taxicabs, my boy, I am afraid."

  "Well, sir, a little money now isn't important enough to worry about ifit means happiness for the future--for us all."

  Mary's face reddened, and
she dropped her eyes. There was anunderstanding between the three which needed no words for explanation.So it is that the sweetest love creeps into its final nestling place.

  "God bless you, my boy. I'm an old man and none too good, but I shallpray for your success."

  "Good bye," said Bobbie, as he and Mary left with the mechanism.

  Bobbie stopped the taxicab which carried them half a block east of theoffice building which was their goal.

  "Mary, I will take this machine up on the floor above Trubus' office,and hide it in the hall. Then you go to your place in the office and Iwill manage a way to draw Mr. Trubus out in a hurry. We will worktogether after that, and spread the electric trap for him."

  Mary went direct to the office, where she found Trubus storming aboutangrily.

  "What do you mean by staying nearly two hours out at luncheon time?" hecried. "I am very busy and I want you to be here on duty regularly,even if my wife did foolishly intercede in your behalf, young woman."

  "I am sorry--I became ill, and was delayed. I will not be late withyou again, sir."

  The president of the Purity League retired to his sanctum, slightlymollified. Mary had not been at her post long when a messenger came inwith a telegram.

  "Mr. Trubus!" he said, shoving the envelope at her.

  She signed his book, and knocked at the door. There was a littledelay, and the worthy man opened it impatiently. "I do not want to beinterrupted, I am going over my accounts."

  She handed him the telegram, and he tore it open hastily.

  "What's this?" he muttered in excitement. Then he went back for hissilk hat, and left, slamming the door of his private office andcarefully locking it.

  "I wonder what took him out so quickly?" thought Mary. But even as shemused Bobbie Burke came into the outer office, with the preciousmachine wrapped in yellow paper.

  "What took Trubus out, Bobbie?" she asked, as she helped him arrangethe machine behind the wastebasket, near the telephone switchboard.

  "Just a telegram, signed 'Friend,' advising him to watch the men whocame in the front door, downstairs, for ten minutes, but not to visitClemm's office. That will keep him away, and he can't possibly guesswho did it."

  "But, look, Bob, he has locked his door with a peculiar key. If youforce it he will be able to tell."

  "I thought he might do as much, Mary. I wouldn't risk tampering withthe lock. Instead, I found an empty room on the floor above. I have arope, and I will take the receiver of your father's machine with thedisc, and part of the wiring which I had already cut. There is no fireescape from the floor above for some reason. He will suspect all theless, then, for he would not think of anyone coming through theheadquarters on the floor below. I will go down hand over hand, youshove the wire under the door to me, and I'll attach it. Then I'll goup the ladder, and we'll let the dictagraph do its work."

  Thus it was accomplished. Mary covered the machine and its wiring inthe outer office, although several times she had to quit at inopportunetimes to answer the telephone, or make a connection.

  Burke, from the room above, climbed down hurriedly, adjusted theinstrument as he had been told to do by John Barton. Then he was out,barely drawing himself and the rope away from the window view beforeTrubus entered.

  Mary thought that it was all discovered, but breathed a sigh of reliefwhen the president opened the door and entered without a remark.

  It was lucky for Burke that the day was so warm, for the president hadleft the window open when he left, otherwise Burke could not possiblyhave carried out his plan so opportunely.

  The telephone bell rang. Mary answered and was greeted by Bob's voice.

  "Is it you, Mary?" he exclaimed hurriedly.

  "Yes."

  "Then start your machine, for I saw this man Shepard go upstairs to thefloor beneath you."

  "All right, Bob," said Mary softly.

  "When the records are run out, unless I telephone you sooner, call oneof the girls to take your place, tell her you are sick, and smuggle outthe records--don't bother about the machine, we'll get that later. Iwill be downstairs waiting for you."

  "Yes. I understand."

  The time dragged horribly, but at last the hour had passed, and Marywrapped up the precious wax cylinders and hurried downstairs.

  Bob was pacing up and down anxiously.

  "Shepard has eluded me. I was afraid to leave you, and he took anauto, and disappeared over toward the East Side. I have telephonedCaptain Sawyer to have a phonograph ready for us. Come, we'll get overto the station at once. I hope your records give us the clue. If theydon't, I'm afraid the trail is lost."

  They hurried to the station house. In the private office of theCaptain they found that officer waiting with eagerness.

  "What's it all about, Bob?" he cried. "Why this phonograph?"

  "It will explain itself, Captain," answered 4434. "Let's fix theserecords in the regular way, and then we will run them in order."

  They did so in absolute silence. The Captain listened, first inbewilderment, then in great excitement.

  "Great snakes! Where did you get those? That is a conversationbetween a bunch of traffickers. Listen, they are buying and selling,making reports and laying out their work for the night."

  "Sssh!" cautioned Bob. "There's something important we want to get."

  Suddenly Mary gripped his hand.

  "That's Shepard's voice. I'd never forget it."

  They listened. The man told of the condition of Lorna, mentioning herby name now. She had returned to consciousness, and was detained inthe room of a house not five blocks from the police station.

  "I'll break her spirit now. None of this stage talk any more, Clemm,"droned the voice in the phonograph. "When I get my whip going she'llbe glad enough to put on the silk dresses. She screamed and cried awhile ago, but I'm used to that sort of guff."

  "Don't mark her up with the whip, Shepard. That's a weakness of yours,and makes us lose money. Go over now and get her ready for to-night.They want a girl like her for a party up-town to-night. Get herscared, and then slip a little cocaine,--that eases 'em up. Then somechampagne, and it will be easy."

  Mary began to sob. Burke held her hand in his firm manner.

  "Don't cry, little girl, we'll attend to her. Captain Sawyer, this isa record of a conversation we took on a new machine in the offices ofthe Purity League. It connects with the 'Mercantile' officedownstairs, which is a headquarters for the white slave business. Nowwe know the address of the house where this young girl is kept. Can Ihave the reserves to help me raid it?"

  "Ah, can you? Why, you will lead it my boy. Run out and order fourmachines from that garage next door. We'll be there in two minutes."

  The reserves were summoned from their lounging room with such speedthat Mary was bewildered.

  "Oh, may I go along?" she begged. "I want to be the first to greet mylittle sister."

  "Yes!" cried Sawyer. "All out now, boys. We'll work this on time. Iknow the house. It has a big back yard, and a fire-escape in the rear.Half you fellows follow the sergeant, and go to the front--but staydown by the corner until exactly four-thirty. Then break into thefront door with axes. The other half--you men in that second file"(they were lined up with military precision in the big room of thestation house)--"go with Bob Burke. I want you to go up over the roof.Use your night sticks if there is any gun play, shoot--but not to kill,for we want to send these men to prison."

  They started off. Mary's heart fluttered with excitement, with hope.There was something so reassuring about the husky manhood of theseblue-coats and the nonchalance and even delight with which they facedthe dangers before them.

  "Can I go in with them?" she cried eagerly.

  "No, young lady, you stay with the sergeant, and sit in the automobilewhen the men leave it. You're apt to get shot, and we want you to takecare of your sister."

  They were off on the race to save Lorna!

  Now the machines
sped down the street. They separated at onethoroughfare, and the men with Burke went down another street toapproach the house from the rear. This they did, quietly but rapidly,through the basement of an old house whose frightened tenants fearedthat they were to be arrested and lynched on the spot, to judge fromtheir terror.

  "Keep quiet," said Burke, "and don't look out of the windows, or wewill arrest you."

  Burke and his men peered at the building which was the object of theirattack. The fire escape came only down to the second story.

  "Well, you fellows will have to give me a boost, and I'll jump for thelower rungs. Then toss up one more man and I'll catch his hand. Wecan go up together. You watch the doors."

  At exactly four thirty they dashed across the yard, scrambled over thefence, and like Zouaves in an exhibition drill, tossed Burke up to thelowest iron bar of the fire escape. He failed the first time. Hetumbled back upon them. The second time was successful. PatrolmanWhite was given a lift and Burke helped to pull him upon thefire-escape.

  "Up, now, White! We will be behind the other fellows in the front!"

  They lost not a second. It was an ape-like climb, but the two trainedathletes made it in surprising time.

  As they reached the top of the building a man scrambled out of the trapwhich led from the skylight.

  "Grab him," yelled Burke.

  White did so. This was prisoner number one.

  Down the ladder, through the opening Burke went and found himself in adingy garret, at the top of a rickety stair-case. He heard screams.He descended the steps half a floor and peering from the angle, throughthe transom of a room which led from the hall, he saw a fat old womanstanding with her hands on her hips, laughing merrily, while Shepardwas swinging a whip upon the shoulders of a screaming girl. Herclothes were half torn from her back, and the whip left a red welt eachtime it struck.

  Downstairs Burke heard the crashing of breaking doors. The raid wasprogressing rapidly. Burke dashed down to the floor level and flunghimself upon the locked door. The first lunge cracked the lock. Thesecond swung the door back on its hinges.

  He half fell into the room.

  As he did so Lorna Barton saw him and in a flash of recognition,screamed: "Oh, save me, Mr. Burke!"

  She staggered forward, and Shepard missed his aim, striking the fatwoman who squealed with pain.

  "I've got _you_ now!" cried Burke, rushing for the ruffian with hisstick.

  "No, you haven't!" hissed Shepard, a fighting animal to the last. Hehad whipped out a magazine gun from his coat pocket, and began firingpoint-blank. Burke threw his stick at the man, but it went wild.

  His own revolver was out now, and he sent a bullet into the fellow'sshoulder.

  Shepard's left arm dropped limply. He dashed toward the door andforced his way past, firing wildly at such close range that it almostburst the gallant policeman's ear drums.

  Up the ladder he scurried like a wild animal, firing as he climbed.

  Burke was right behind him.

  Shepard ran for the fire-escape. Burke was after him. Each man waswasting bullets. But as Shepard reached the edge of the roof Burketook the most deliberate aim of his life, and sent a bullet into thevillain's breast.

  Shepard gasped, his hands went up, and he toppled over the cornice tothe back yard below.

  He died as he had lived, with a curse on his lip, murder in his heart,and battling like a beast!

  CHAPTER XV

  THE FINISH

  Burke rushed down the dilapidated steps once more to the room whereLorna had undergone her bitter punishment. Already three bluecoats hadentered in time to capture the frantic old woman, while they worked tobring the miserable girl back to consciousness.

  "She's coming around all right, Burke," said the sergeant. "Help mecarry her downstairs."

  "I'll do that myself," quoth Bobbie, feeling that the privilege ofrestoring her to Mary had been rightfully earned. He picked her up andtenderly lifted her from the couch where she had been placed by thesergeant. Down the stairs they went with their prisoner, whilePatrolman White descended from the roof with his captive, whose handshad been shackled behind his back.

  The house had the appearance of a cheap lodging place, and the dirtycarpet of the hall showed hard usage. As they reached the lower floorBobbie noticed Captain Sawyer rummaging through an imitation mahoganydesk in the converted parlor, a room furnished much after the fashionof the bedroom of Madame Blanche in the house uptown.

  "What sort of place is it? A headquarters for the gang?" asked Bobbie,as he hesitated with Lorna in his arms.

  "No, just the same kind of joint we've raided so many times, and we'vegot hundreds more to raid," answered Sawyer. "I've found the receiptsfor the rent here, and they've been paying about five times what it isworth. The man who owns this house is your friend Trubus. This linkshim up once more. There's a lot of information in this desk. Buthurry with the girl, Bobbie, for her sister is nearly wild."

  As Burke marched down the steps, carrying the rescued one, a big crowdof jostling spectators raised a howl of "bravos" for the gallantbluecoat. The nature of this evil establishment was well enough knownin the neighborhood, but people of that part of town knew well enoughto keep their information from the police, for the integrity of theirown skins.

  Mary had been kept inside the automobile with difficulty; now shescreamed with joy and sprang from the step to the street. Up the stonestairs she rushed, throwing her arms about Lorna, who greeted her witha wan smile; she had strength for no more evidence of recognition.

  "Here, chief," said the chauffeur of the hired car to Burke, "I alwayshave this handy in my machine. Give the lady a drink--it'll help her."

  He had drawn forth a brandy flask, and Burke quickly unscrewed thecup-cap, to pour out a libation.

  "Oh, no!" moaned Lorna, objecting weakly, but Burke forced it betweenher teeth. The burning liquid roused her energies and, with Mary'sassistance, she was able to sit up in the rear of the auto.

  "Take another, lady," volunteered the chauffeur. "It'll do you good."

  "Never. I've tasted the last liquor that shall ever pass my lips,"said Lorna. "Oh, Mary, what a horrible lesson I've learned!"

  Her sister comforted her, and turned toward Burke pleadingly.

  "Can I take her home, Bob? You know how anxious father is?"

  Captain Sawyer had come to the side of the automobile. He nodded.

  "Yes, Miss Barton, the chauffeur will take her right up to your house.Give her some medical attention at once, and be ready to come back withher to the station house as soon as I send for you. I'm going to getthe ringleader of this gang in my net before the day is through. Soyour sister should be here if she is strong enough to press the firstcomplaint. I'll attend to the others, with the Federal Government andthose phonograph records back of me! Hurry up, now."

  He turned to his sergeant.

  "Put these prisoners in the other automobile and call out the men toclear this mob away from the streets. Keep the house watched by oneman outside and one in the rear. We don't know what might be done todestroy some of this evidence."

  The automobile containing the two girls started on the glad homewardjourney at the Captain's signal. Bobbie waved his hat and the happytears coursed down his face.

  "Well, Captain, I've got to face a serious investigation now," he saidto his superior as they went up the steps once more.

  "What is it?" exclaimed Sawyer in surprise, "You'll be a medal of honorman, my boy."

  "I've killed a man."

  "You have! Well, tell me about your end of the raid. All this hashappened so quickly that we must get the report ready right here on thespot, in order to have it exact."

  "This man Shepard, who seems to be the professional whipper of thisgang, as well as a procurer, fought me with a magazine revolver. I ranhim up to the roof, and I had to shoot him or be killed myself. Thatmeans a trial, I know. You'll find his body back of the house, for hefell off
the roof at the end."

  "Self-defense and carrying out the law will cover you, my boy. Don'tworry about that. This city has been kept terror-stricken by thesegangsters long enough, because honest citizens have been compelled by award politician's law to go without weapons of defense. A man is notallowed to have a revolver in his own home without paying ten dollars ayear as a license fee. But a crook can carry an arsenal; I've alwayshad a sneaking opinion that there were two sides to the reasons forthat law. Then the city officials have given the public the idea thatthe police were brutes, and have reprimanded us for using force withthese murderers and robbers. Force is the only thing that will tamethese beasts of the jungle. You can't do it with kisses and boxes ofcandy!"

  Burke was rubbing his left forearm.

  "By Jingo! I believe I hurt myself."

  He rolled up his sleeve, and saw a furrow of red in his muscularforearm. It was bleeding, but as he wiped it with his handkerchief hewas relieved to find that it was a mere flesh wound.

  "If Shepard had hit the right instead of the left--I would have beenleft in the discard," he said, with grim humor. "Can you help me tieit up for now. This means another scolding from Doctor MacFarland, Isuppose."

  "It means that you've more evidence of the need for putting a tiger outof danger!"

  The coroner was called, and the statements of the policemen were made.The Captain, with Burke and several men, deployed through the back yardto the other house, leaving the grewsome duty of removing the body tothe coroner. The two waiting automobiles on the rear street werecrowded with policemen, as Sawyer ordered the chauffeur to drivespeedily to the headquarters of the Purity League.

  "We must clean out that hole, as we did this one!" muttered Sawyer."You go for Trubus, Burke, with one of the men, while I will take therest and close in on their 'Mercantile' office downstairs. We'll putthat slave market out of business in three minutes."

  They were soon on Fifth Avenue. The elevators carried the policemen upto the third floor, and they sprang into the offices of the "MercantileAssociation" with little ado.

  The small, wan man who sat at the desk was just in the act of sniffinga cheering potion of cocaine as the head of Captain Sawyer appearedthrough the door. With a quick movement the lookout pressed twobuttons. One of them resulted in a metallic click in the door of thestrong iron grating. The other rang a warning bell inside the privateoffice of John Clemm.

  Sawyer pushed and shoved at the grilled barrier, but it was safelylocked with a strong, secret bolt.

  "Open this, or I'll shoot!" exclaimed the irate Captain.

  "You can't get in there. We're a lawful business concern," replied thelittle man, squirming toward the door which led to the big waitingroom. "Where's your search warrant. I know the law, and you policecan't fool me."

  "This is my search warrant!" exclaimed Sawyer, as he sent a bulletcrashing into the wall, purposely aiming a foot above the lookout'shead. "Quick, open this door. The next shot won't miss!"

  There was a sound of overturned chairs and cries of alarm inside thedoor. The little man felt that he had sounded his warning and lived upto his duty. Had he completed that sniffing of the "koke," he woulddoubtless have been stimulated to enough pseudo-courage to face theentire Police Department single-handed--as long as the thrill of thedrug lasted. A majority of the desperate deeds performed by thecriminals in New York, so medical examinations have proved, are carriedon under the stimulus of this fearful poison, which can be obtainedwith comparative ease throughout the city.

  But the lookout was deprived of his drug. He even endeavored to take asniff as the captain and his men shoved and shook the iron work of thegrating.

  "Drop it!" cried Sawyer, pulling the trigger again and burying anotherbullet in the plaster.

  "Oh, oh! Don't shoot!" cried the lookout weakly. He trembled as headvanced to the grating and removed the emergency bolt.

  "Grab him!" cried Sawyer to one of his men. "Come with me, fellows."He rushed into the waiting room. There consternation reigned. Fully adozen pensioners of the "system" of traffic in souls were struggling toescape through the barred windows in the rear. These bars had beenplaced as they were to resist the invaders from the outside. JohnClemm's system of defense was extremely ingenious. In time of troublehe had not deemed the inmates of the middle room worth protecting--hispurpose was to exclude with the iron grating and the barred windows thepossible entry of raiders.

  Three revolvers were on the floor. Their owners had wisely discardedthem to avoid the penalty of the concealed weapon law, for they hadrealized that they were trapped.

  "Open that door!" cried Sawyer, who had learned the arrangement of therooms from Burke's description.

  Two men pushed at the door, which was securely locked. They finallycaught up the nearest church pew, and, using it as a battering ram,they succeeded in smashing the heavy oaken panels. The door had beenbarricaded with a cross bar. As they cautiously peered in through theforced opening they saw the room empty and the window open.

  "He's escaped!" exclaimed Sawyer.

  Just then a call from the outer vestibule reached his ears.

  "I've caught the go-between, Captain. Here's Mr. John Clemm, theexecutive genius of this establishment," sung out Burke, who wasstanding inside the door with the rueful fat man wearing the handcuffs.

  "Where did you get him, Burke?"

  "He tried to make a quiet getaway through the rescue department of thePurity League," answered Officer 4434. "I nabbed him as he came up thefire-escape from this floor."

  "Where is Trubus?"

  "He has gone home, so one of the stenographers tells me."

  "Then we will get him, too. Hurry now. White, I leave you in chargeof this place. Send for the wagon and take these men over to ourstation house. Get every bit of paper and the records. We had betterlook around in that private office first before we go after Trubus."

  They finished the demolition of the door and entered.

  "What's this arrangement?" queried Sawyer, puzzled, as he looked at theautomatic pencil box.

  "That is an arrangement by which this fellow Clemm has been makingduplicates of all his transactions in his own writing," explainedBurke. "You see this Trubus has trusted no one. He has a definiterecord of every deal spread out before him by the other pencil on themachine upstairs, just as this go-between writes it out. Then here isthe dictagraph, under the desk."

  Burke pointed out the small transmitting disc to the surprised captain.

  "Well, this man learned a lot from the detectives and applied it to histrade very scientifically, didn't he?"

  "Yes, the records we have on the phonograph show that every word whichpassed in this room was received upstairs by Trubus. No one but Clemmknew of his connection or ownership of the establishment. Yet Trubus,all the time that he was posing as the guardian angel of virtue, hasbeen familiar with the work of every procurer and every purchaser; it'sa wonderful system. If he had spent as much energy on doing thecharitable work that he pretended to do, think of how much misery andsickness he could have cured."

  "Well, Burke, it's the same game that a lot of politicians on the EastSide do. They own big interests and the gambling privileges in thesaloons, and they get their graft from the gangsters. Then about twicea year they give a picnic for the mothers and babies of the drunkardswho patronize their saloons. They send a ticket for a bucket of coalor a pair of shoes to the parents of young girls who work for thegangsters and bring the profits of shame back tenfold on the investmentto these same politicians. They will spend a hundred dollars oncharity and the newspapers will run columns about it. But the poordevils who cheer them and vote for them don't realize that every dollarof graft comes, not out of the pockets of property owners andemployers, but from reduced wages, increased rents, and expensive,rotten food. Trubus would have been a great Alderman or State Senator:he wasted his talents on religion."

  Burke turned to the door.

  "Shall I go u
p to his house, Captain? I'd like to be in at the finishof this whole fight."

  "You bet you can," said Sawyer. "It's now nearly six o'clock, and wewill jump into the machine and get up there before he can get out tosupper. The men will take care of these prisoners."

  After a few skillful orders, Sawyer led the way downstairs. They weresoon speeding up to the Riverside Drive residence of thephilanthropist, Sawyer and Burke enjoying the machine to themselves.

  "This is a joy ride that will not be so joyful for one man on thereturn trip, Burke!" exclaimed Sawyer, as he took off his cap to mopthe perspiration from his brow. He had been through a strenuousafternoon and was beginning to feel the strain.

  "How shall we approach his house?" asked Burke.

  "You get out of the machine and go to the door. There's no need ofalarming his family. Just tell the servant who answers the door thatyou want to speak to the boss--say that there's been a robbery down athis office, and you want to speak to him privately. Tell the servantnot to let the other members of the family know about it, as it wouldworry them."

  "That's a good idea, Captain. I understand that his wife and daughterare very fine women. It will save a terrible scene. What a shame tomake them suffer like this!"

  "Yes, Burke. If these scoundrels only realized that their work alwaysmade some good woman suffer--sometimes a hundred. Think of the womenthat this villain has made to suffer, body and soul. Think of themothers' hearts he has broken while posing with his charity and hisBible! All that wickedness is to be punished on his own wife and hisown daughter. I tell you, there's something in life which brings backthe sins of the fathers, all right, upon their children. The Good Bookcertainly tells it right."

  The auto was stopped before the handsome residence of the PurityLeague's leader. It seemed a bitter tangle of Fate that in thesebeautiful surroundings, with the broad blue Hudson River a few hundredyards away, the green of the park trees, the happy throng ofpedestrians strolling and chatting along the promenade of the Drive, itshould be Burke's duty to drag to punishment as foul a scoundrel asever drew the breath of the beautiful spring air. The sun was settingin the heights of Jersey, across the Hudson, and the golden lighttinted the carved stone doorway of Trubus's home, making Burke feel asthough he were acting in some stage drama, rather than real life. Thespotlight of Old Sol was on him as he rang the bell by the entry.

  "Is Mr. Trubus home?" asked Burke of the portly butler who answered thesummons.

  "Hi don't know, sir," responded the servant, in a conventionalmonotone. "What nyme, sir?"

  "Just tell him that it is a policeman. His office has been robbed, andwe want to get some particulars about it."

  "Well, sir, he's dressing for dinner, sir. You'll 'ave to wyte, sir.Hi wouldn't dare disturb 'im now, sir."

  "You had better dare. This is very important to him. But don'tmention it to anyone else, for it would worry his wife and daughter."

  As Burke was speaking, a big fashionable car drew up behind the one inwhich Captain Sawyer sat, awaiting developments. A young man, wearinga light overcoat, whose open fold displayed a dinner coat, descendedand approached the door.

  "What's the trouble here?" he curtly inquired.

  "None of your business," snapped Burke, who recognized the fiance,Ralph Gresham.

  "Don't you sauce me--I'll find out myself."

  The butler bowed as Gresham approached.

  "Come in, sir. Miss Trubus is hexpecting you, sir. This person iswyting to see Mr. Trubus, sir."

  Gresham, with an angry look at the calm policeman, went inside.

  The door shut. Burke for a minute regretted that he had not insistedon admission. It might have been possible for Trubus to have receivedsome sort of warning. The "best-laid plans of mice and men" had onebad habit, as Burke recollected, just at the moment when success wasapparently within grasp.

  But the door opened again. The smug countenance, the neatly brushed"mutton-chops," the immaculate dinner coat of William Trubus appeared,and Bobbie looked up into the angry glint of the gentleman's black eyes.

  "What do you mean by annoying me here? Why didn't you telephone me?"began the owner of the mansion. "I am just going out to dinner."

  He looked sharply at Burke, vaguely remembering the face of the youngofficer. Bobbie quietly stepped to his side and caught the knob of thebig door, shutting it softly behind Trubus.

  "Why, you...."

  Before he could finish Burke had deftly clipped one handcuff on theright wrist of the man and with an unexpected movement pinioned theother, snapping the manacle as he did so.

  "Outrageous!" exclaimed the astounded Trubus. But Burke was dragginghim rapidly into the car.

  "If you don't want your wife to know about this, get in quickly,"commanded Sawyer sharply.

  Trubus began to expostulate, but his thick lips quivered with emotion.

  "Down to the station house, quick!" ordered the captain to thechauffeur. "No speed limit."

  "I'll have you discharged from the force for this, you scoundrel!"Trubus finally found words to say. "Where is your warrant for myarrest? What is your charge?"

  Sawyer did not answer.

  As they reached a subway station he called out to the driver:

  "Stop a minute. Now, Burke, you had better go uptown and get thewitness; hurry right down, for I want to end this matter to-night."

  Bobbie dismounted, while Trubus stormed in vain. As the car spedonward he saw the president of the Purity League indulging in languagequite alien to the Scriptural quotations which were his usual stock indiscourse. Captain Sawyer was puffing a cigar and watching the throngon the sidewalks as though he were stone deaf.

  Burke hurried to the Barton home. There he found a scene of joy whichbeggared description. Lorna had recovered and was strong enough to runto greet him.

  "Oh, Mr. Burke, can you ever forgive me for my silliness and uglywords?" she began, as Mary caught the officer's hand with a welcomeclasp.

  "There, there, Miss Lorna, I've nothing to forgive. I'm so happy thatyou have come out safe and sound from the dangers of these men,"answered Burke. "We have trapped the gang, even up to Trubus, and, ifyou are strong enough to go down to the station, we will have him sentwith the rest of his crew to the Tombs to await trial."

  Old Barton reached for Burke's hand.

  "My boy, you have been more than a friend to me on this terrible yetwonderful day. You could have done no more if you had been my own son."

  The excitement and his own tense nerves drove Bobbie to a speech whichhe had been pondering and hesitating to make for several weeks. Heblurted it out now, intensely surprised at his own temerity.

  "Your own son, Mr. Barton.... Oh, how I wish I were.... And I hopethat I may be some day, if you and some one else are willing ... someday when I have saved enough to provide the right sort of a home."

  He hesitated, and Lorna stepped back. Mary held out her hands, and hereyes glowed with that glorious dilation which only comes once in alife-time to one woman's glance for only one man's answering look.

  She held out her hands as she approached him.

  "Oh, Bob ... as though you had to ask!" was all she said, as the strongarms caught her in their first embrace. Her face was wet with tears asBob drew back from their first kiss.

  John Barton was wiping his eyes as Burke looked at him in happybewilderment at this curious turn to his fortune.

  "My boy, Bob," began the old man softly, "would you take theresponsibility of a wife, earning no more money than a policeman can?"

  Bob nodded. "I'd do it and give up everything in the world to make herhappy if it were enough to satisfy her," he asserted.

  Barton lifted up a letter which had been lying on the table beside him.He smiled as he read from it:

  "DEAR MR. BARTON:

  "The patents have gone through in great shape and they are so basicthat no one can fight you on them. The Gresham Company has offered me,as your attorney, fifty thousand do
llars as an advance royalty, and acontract for your salary as superintendent for their manufacture. Wecan get even more. It may interest you to know that your friend on thepolice force won't have to worry about a raise in salary. I have beenworking on his case with a lawyer in Decatur, Illinois. His uncle iswilling to make a payment of twenty-four thousand dollars to preventbeing prosecuted for misappropriation of funds on that estate. I willsee you...."

  Barton dropped the letter to his lap.

  "Now, how does that news strike you?"

  "I can't believe it real," gasped Burke, rubbing his forehead. "But Iam more glad for you than for myself. You will have an immensefortune, won't you?"

  Smiling into the faces of the two radiant girls, Old Barton drew Lornato his side and, reaching forward, tugged at the hand of Mary.

  "In my two dear girls, safe and happy, I have a greater wealth for myold age than the National City Bank could pay me, Burke. Lorna hastold me of her experience and her escape when all escape seemedhopeless. She has learned that the sensual pleasures of one side ofNew York's glittering life are dross and death. In the books and sillyplays she has read and seen it was pictured as being all song andjollity. Now she knows how sordid and bitter is the draught which canonly end, like all poison, in one thing. God bless you, my boy, andyou, my girls!"

  Bobbie shook the old man's hand, and then remembered the unpleasantduty still before him.

  "We must get down town as soon as possible," syd he. "Come, won't yougo with us, Mary?"

  The two girls put on their hats and together they traveled to thedistant police station as rapidly as possible. It was a bitter ordealfor Lorna, whose strength was nearly exhausted. The welts on hershoulders from Shepard's whip brought the tears to her eyes. As theyreached the station house the girl became faint. The matron and Maryhad to chafe her hands and apply other homely remedies to keep her upfor the task of identifying the woman who had been captured.

  "Now, Burke," began Sawyer, "I have been saving Trubus for a surprise.He has been locked up in my private office, and still doesn't knowexactly how we have caught him. I've broken the letter of the rules byforbidding him to telephone anyone until you came. I guess it isimportant enough, in view of our discovery, for me to have donethis--he can call up his lawyer as soon as we have confronted him withClemm and this young girl. Bring me the phonograph records."

  They went into his private office, where White was guarding Trubus.

  "How much longer am I to be subject to these Russian police methods?"demanded Trubus, with an oath.

  "Quiet, now, Mr. Purity League," said Sawyer, "we are going to haveladies present. You will soon be allowed to talk all you want. But Iwarn you in advance that everything you say will be used as evidenceagainst you."

  "Against me--me, the leading charity worker of our city!" snortedTrubus, but he watched the door uneasily.

  "Bring in the young ladies, Burke," directed Captain Sawyer.

  Bobbie returned with Mary and Lorna. Trubus started perceptibly as heobserved the new telephone girl whom his wife had induced him to employthat day.

  Sawyer nodded again to Burke.

  "Now the go-between." He turned to Mary. "Do you know this man, MissBarton?"

  The name had a strangely familiar sound to Trubus. He wondereduneasily.

  "He is William Trubus, president of the Purity League. I worked forhim to-day."

  "Do you recognize this man?" was queried, as Clemm shuffled forward,with the assistance of Burke's sturdy push.

  "This is the one who was embracing the other telephone girl. But hedid not stay there long. I never saw him before that, to myrecollection."

  "What do you know about this man, Officer 4434?" asked the captain.Clemm fumbled with his handcuffs, looking down in a sheepish way toavoid the malevolent looks of Trubus.

  "He is known as John Clemm, although we have found a police record ofhim under a dozen different aliases. He formerly ran a gambling house,and at different times has been involved in bunco game and wire-tappingtricks. He is one of the cleverest crooks in New York. In the presentcase he has been the go-between for this man Trubus, who, posing as areformer to cover his activities, has kept in touch with the work ofthe Vice Trust, managed by Clemm. They had a dictagraph and amechanical pencil register which connected Trubus's office withClemm's."

  "It's a lie!" shouted Trubus, furiously. "Some of these degradedcriminals are drawing my famous and honored name into this case toprotect themselves. It is a police scheme for notoriety."

  "You'll get the notoriety," retorted Sawyer. "There is a young man whois taking notes for the biggest paper in New York. He has verifiedevery detail. They'll have extras on the streets in fifteen minutes,for this is the biggest story in years. You are cornered at last,Trubus. Send in the rest of those people arrested in that house ownedby Trubus." The woman was brought in with the others of the gang whohad been apprehended in the old house.

  The pretended philanthropist was cornered at last.]

  "Now, Mr. Trubus, this woman rented from you and paid a very highrental. The man Shepard was killed in resisting arrest. We haverounded up Baxter, Craig, Madame Blanche and a dozen others of youremployees. Have you anything to say?"

  Trubus whirled around and would have struck Clemm had not Whiteintervened.

  "You squealer! You've betrayed me!"

  "No, I didn't!" cried Clemm, shrinking back. "I swear I didn't!"

  Sawyer reached for the phonograph records and held them up with alaconic smile.

  "There's no use in accusing anyone else, Trubus. You're your own worstenemy, for these records, with your own dictagraph as the chiefassistant prosecutor, have trapped you."

  Trubus raised his hands in terror and his iron nerve gave waycompletely.

  "Oh, my God!" he cried. "What will my wife and daughter think?"

  "You should have figured that out when you started all this," retortedSawyer. "Take them into the cells, and we'll have them arraigned atNight Court. Make out the full reports now, men."

  The prisoners were led out.

  Trubus turned and begged with Sawyer for a little time.

  "Let me tell my wife," he pleaded. "I don't want any one else to doit."

  "You stay just where you are, until I am through with you. You'regetting war methods now, Trubus--after waging war from ambush for allthis time. Burke, you had better have the young ladies taken home. Goup with them. Use the automobile outside. You can have the eveningoff as soon as we get through the arraignment at court."

  It took an hour before the first charges could be brought to theMagistrate, through whose hands all cases must first be carried. Thesisters decided to stay and end their first ordeal with what testimonywas desired. This was sufficient for the starting of the wheels ofjustice. Trubus had called up his lawyer, who was on hand with theusual objections and instructions. But he was held over until the daycourt, without bail.

  "Only let me go home, and break the news to my wife and daughter,"begged the subdued man. "Oh, I beg that one privilege."

  The judge looked at Captain Sawyer, who nodded.

  "I will send a couple of men up with him, your honor. I understand hiswife is a very estimable lady. It will be a bitter blow to her."

  "All right. You will have to go in the custody of the police. But Iwill not release you on bail."

  Bobbie and the girls had already sped on their way to the happy Bartonhome. Trubus, under the watchful eyes of two policemen and with hislawyer, lost no time in returning to his mansion.

  As he rang the bell the butler hurried to the door in a frightenedmanner.

  "It can't be true, sir, wot the pypers say, can it?" he gasped. ButTrubus forced his way past, followed by the attorney and his two guards.

  In the beautiful drawing-room he saw two maids leaning over theOriental couch. They were trying to quiet his daughter.

  "Why, Sylvia, my child," he cried.

  "Oh, oh!" exclaimed the girl,
forcing herself free from the restraininghands of the servants. She laughed shrilly as she staggered toward herfather. Her eyes were wide and staring with the light of madness."Here's father! Dear father!"

  Trubus paled, but caught her in his arms.

  "My poor dear," he began.

  "Oh, look, father, what it says in the papers. We missed you--ha,ha!--and the newsboys sold us this on the street. Look, father,there's your picture. He, he! And Ralph bought it and brought it tome."

  She staggered and sank half-drooping in his arms. Her head rolled backand her eyes stared wildly at the ceiling. Her mad laughter rang outshrilly, piercing the ears of her miserable father. The two policemenand the lawyer watched the uncanny scene.

  "Ha, ha! Ralph read it, and he's gone. He wouldn't marry me now, hesaid,--ha, ha! Father! Who cares? Oh, it's so funny!" She brokefrom her father's hold and ran into the big dining room, pursued by thesobbing maids.

  "She's gone crazy as a loon," whispered one of the policemen to theother.

  "Where is my wife?" timidly asked Trubus, as he supported himself withone hand on a table near the door. The frightened butler, withcholeric red face, pointed upward.

  Trubus drew himself up and started for the broad stairway.

  Just then a revolver shot smote the ears of the excited men. It camefrom above.

  "Great God!" uttered Trubus, clasping his hand to his heart. He ranfor the stairs, followed by the two patrolmen, while the lawyer sankweakly into a chair and buried his face in his hands. He guessed onlytoo well what had happened.

  The policemen were slower than the panic-stricken Trubus.

  They found him in his magnificent boudoir, kneeling and sobbing by theside of his dead wife; a revolver had fallen to the floor from her limphand. It was still smoking. The exquisite lace coverlet was even nowdrinking up the red stains, and the bluecoats stopped at the doorway,dropping their heads as they instinctively doffed their caps.

  Gruff Roundsman Murphy crossed himself, while White wiped his eyes withthe back of his hand. He remembered a verse from the old days when hewent to Sunday-school in the Jersey town where he was born.

  "'Vengeance is mine,' saith the Lord."

  * * * * *

  The blossoms of late May were tinting the greensward beneath the treesof Central Park as Bobbie Burke and Mary strolled along one of thewinding paths. They had just walked up the Avenue from their lastshopping expedition.

  "I hated to bid the boys at the station house good-bye this afternoon,Mary. Yet after to-night we'll be away from New York for a wonderfulmonth in the country. And then no more police duty, is there?"

  "No, Bob. You and father will be the busiest partners in New York andyou will have to report for duty at our new little apartment everyevening before six. I'm so glad that you can leave all those dangers,and gladder still because of my own selfish gratifications. Afterto-night."

  "Well, I'm scared of to-night more than I was of that police parade onMay Day, with all that fuss about the medal. Here I've got to face aminister, and you know that's not as easy as it seems."

  They reached the new home which the advance royalties for old Barton'sdays of realization had made possible. It was a handsome apartment onCentral Park West, and the weeks of preparation had turned it into awonderful bower for this night of nights.

  "Look, Mary," cried Lorna, as they came in. "Here are two morepresents. One must weigh a ton and the other is in this funny oldbandbox."

  They opened the big bundle first; it was a silver service of elaborate,ornate design. It had cost hundreds of dollars.

  On a long paper Bobbie saw the names of a hundred men, all familiar andmemory-stirring. The list was headed with the simple dedication in thefull, round hand which Burke recognized as that of Captain Sawyer:

  "To the Prince of all the Rookies and his Princess, from his brothercops. God bless you, Bobbie Burke, and Mrs. Bobbie."

  Ex-officer 4434 Burke blinked and hugged his happy fiancee delightedly.

  "What's in that old bandbox, Bob?" asked Lorna. "It's marked'Glass--Handle with care.' I wonder how it ever held together. Somecountry fellow left it at the door this afternoon, but wouldn't comein."

  They opened it, and Mary gasped.

  "Why, look at the flowers!"

  The box seemed full of old-fashioned country blossoms, as Mary dippedher hand into it. Then she deftly reached to the bottom of the bigbandbox and lifted its contents. Wrapped in a sheathing of oiledtissue paper was a monstrous cake, layer on layer, like a Chinesepagoda. It was covered with that rustic triumph of multi-colored icingwhich only grandmothers seem able to compound in these degenerate daysof machine-made pastry of the city bakeries.

  A wedding ring of yellow icing was molded in the center, while oneither side were red candy hearts, joined by whirly sugar streamers ofpink and blue.

  A card pinned in the center said:

  "From Henrietta and Joe."

  "That's all we needed," said Mary with a sob in her happy voice, "tomake our wedding supper end right. Wasn't it, Officer 4434?"

  THE END