Larry caught and whirled around Barney Palmer just as the hand of the escaping Barney was on the knob of the outer door.

“No, you don't, Barney Palmer!” he cried. “You stay right here!”

Startled as Barney was by this appearance of his dearest enemy, he wasted no precious time on mere words. He swung a vicious blow at Larry, intended to remove this barrier to his freedom. But the experienced Larry let it glance off his forearm, and with the need of an instantaneous conclusion he sent a terrific right to Barney's chin. Barney staggered back, fell in a crumpled heap, and lay motionless.

Sparing only the fraction of a second to see that Barney was momentarily out of it, Larry sprang upon Joe Ellison and tried to break the deadly grips Joe held upon Old Jimmie.

“Stop, Joe—stop!” he cried peremptorily. “Your killing Jimmie Carlisle isn't going to help things!”

Without relaxing his holds, Joe turned upon this interferer.

“Larry Brainard! How'd you come in here?”

“I've been here all the time. But, Joe—don't kill Jimmie Carlisle!”

“You keep out—this is my business!” Joe fiercely replied. “If you've been here all the time, then you know what he's done to me, and what he's done to my girl! You know he deserves to have his neck twisted off—and I'm going to twist it off!”

Larry perceived that Joe's sense of tremendous injury had made him for the moment a madman in his rage. Only the most powerful appeal had a chance to bring him back to sanity.

“Listen, Joe—listen!” he cried desperately, straining to hold back the other's furious strength from its destructive purpose. “After what's happened, every one is bound to know that Maggie is your daughter! Understand that, Joe?—every one will know that Maggie is your daughter! It's not going to help you to be charged with murder. And think of this, Joe—what's it going to do to your daughter to have her father a murderer?”

“What's that?” Joe Ellison asked dazedly.

Larry saw that his point had penetrated to the other's reason. So he drove on, repeating what he had said.

“Understand this, Joe?—every one will now know that Maggie is your daughter! You simply can't prevent their knowing that now! Remember how for over fifteen years you've been trying to do the best you could for her! Do you now want to do the worst thing you can do? The worst thing you can do for Maggie is to make her father a murderer!”

“I guess that's right Larry,” he said huskily. “Thanks.”

He pushed the half-strangled Jimmie Carlisle away from him. “You'll get yours in some other way!” he said grimly.

Old Jimmie, staggering, caught the back of a chair for support. He tenderly felt his throat and blinked at Larry and Joe and Maggie. He did not try to say anything. In the meantime Barney had recovered consciousness, had struggled up, and was standing near Old Jimmie. Their recognition that they were sharers of defeat had served to restore something of the sense of alliance between the two.

“Well, anyhow, Larry Brainard,” snarled Barney, “you haven't had anything to do with putting this across!”

It was Joe Ellison who replied. “Larry Brainard has had everything to do with putting this across. He's been beating you all the time from the very beginning, though you may not have known it. And though he's seemed to be out of things for the last few hours, he's been the actual power behind everything that's happened up to this minute. So don't fool yourself—Larry Brainard has beaten you out at every point!”

A sense of triumph glowed within Larry at this. There had been a time when he had wanted the animal satisfaction which would have come from his giving violent physical punishment to these two—particularly to Barney. But he had no desire now for such empty vengeance.

“Well, I guess you've got nothing on me,” Barney growled at them, “so I'll be moving along. Better come, too, Jimmie.”

While he spoke a figure had moved from Larry's closet with the silence of a swift shadow. It's thin hand gripped Barney's shoulder.

“I guess I've got something on you!” it said.

Barney whirled. “Red Hannigan!” he gasped.

“Yes, Red Hannigan!—you stool—you squealer!” said Red Hannigan. “I heard you brag about being Barlow's stool, and I heard everything else you bragged about to Joe Ellison's girl. I'd bump you off right now if I had my gat with me and if I had any chance at a get-away. But I'll be looking after you, and the gang will be looking after you, till you die—the same as you set us after Larry Brainard! No matter what else happens to you, you'll always have that as something extra waiting for you! And when the time comes, we'll get you!”

As silently as he had appeared from the closet, as silently he let himself out of the room. The glowering features of Barney had faded to a pasty white while Hannigan had spoken, and now the hand which tried to bring a handkerchief to his lips shook so that he could hardly find his face. For none knew so well as Barney Palmer how inescapable was this thing which would be hanging over him until the end of his days.

Before any one in the room could speak there came a loud pounding from within the door of the closet Larry and Red Hannigan had not occupied. “Oh, I'd completely forgotten!” exclaimed Maggie—and indeed she had forgotten all that was not immediately connected with the situation created by her father's unexpected entrance. She crossed and unlocked the door, and Barlow stepped out.

“Chief Barlow!” exclaimed the astonished Larry, and all the other men gazed at the Chief of Detectives with an equal surprise.

“He is part of my frame-up,” Maggie explained at large. “I wanted both the police and Larry's old friends to know the truth at first hand—and clear him before I went away.”

“Wasn't that Red Hannigan who just spoke?” were Barlow's first words.

“Yes,” said Larry.

Barney, and Old Jimmie as well, had perked up at the appearance of Barlow, as though at aid which had come just in time. But Barlow turned upon Barney a cold police eye.

“I heard you brag that you were my stool. That's a lie.”

“Why—why—Chief—” Barney stammered. He had counted upon help here, where there had existed mutually advantageous relations for so long.

“I heard you say you had my protection. That's another lie. You've squealed on a few people, but I've never given you a thing.”

Barney gasped at this. He knew, as every one in the room also knew, that Barlow was lying. But Barlow held all the cards. Rough and ruthless police politician that he was, he made it his business always to hold the highest cards. As sick of soul as a man can be, Barney realized that Barlow was doing exactly what Barlow always did—was swinging to the side that had the most evidence and that would prove most advantageous to him. And Barney realized that he was suffering the appointed fate of all stool-pigeons who are found out by their fellow criminals to be stool-pigeons. Such informers are of no further use, and according to the police code they must be given punishment so severe as to dissipate any unhealthy belief on the public's part that there could ever have been any alliance between the two.

“I've used this young lady who seems to have been Jimmie Carlisle's daughter and now seems to be the daughter of this old-timer Joe Ellison, for a little private sleuthing on my own hook,” Barlow went on—for it was the instinct of the man to claim the conception and leadership of any idea in whose development he had a part. He spoke in a brusque tone—as why should he not, since he was addressing an audience he lumped together as just so many crooks? “Through this little stunt I pulled to-night, I've got on to your curves, Barney Palmer. And yours, too, Jimmie Carlisle. And I'm going to run the pair of you in.”

This was too much for Barney Palmer. Even though he knew that his position as a stool, who was known to be a stool, was without hope whatever, he went utterly to pieces.

“For God's sake, Chief,” he burst out frantically, “you're not going to treat me like that! You could get me out of this easy! Think of all I've done for you! For God's sake, Chief—for God's sake—”

“Shut up!” ordered Barlow, doubling a big fist.

Chokingly Barney obeyed. Old Jimmie, coward though he was, and lacking entirely Barney's quality of a bravo, had accepted the situation with the twitching calm of one to whom the worst has often happened. “Shut up,” repeated Barl............