The Duke Cleans Up
Date: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00
Description: Heming was a compulsive writer of plays, short stories, novels and non-fiction, and managed to make a rather sparse living at it in depression era Australia. During WW2, imports of all non-essentials ceased, and that included magazines and books. Heming, like a number of other Australian writers, filled this yawning gap by churning out hundreds of Western, Romance, Science Fiction, Crime, and other genre stories and novels under numerous pseudonyms. Westerns, for example, were by Tex Barton.... This is one of two known crime novels featuring gentleman crook "The Duke" and his coloroful enemies

THE DUKE

CLEANS UP

John Winton Heming

1936

Published in weekly episodes in The World's News (Sydney) commencing 4 December 1935. It has not published in book form.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Chapter 15 | Chapter 16

Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Chapter 21 | Chapter 22

Chapter 23 | Chapter 24

Chapter 25 | Chapter 26

Chapter 27 | Chapter 28

Chapter 29 | Chapter 30

Chapter 31 | Chapter 32

Chapter 33 | Chapter 34

Chapter 35 | Chapter 36

Chapter 37 | Chapter 38

_______________

Prologue

The Killers

THE night was very dark.

Storm clouds swept the sky and the wind whistled about the big house in fitful gusts. There was no rain, but the threatening heavens loomed close to the towering chimneys with sinister suggestion.

It was 3 a.m., and in an upstairs room of the house a man lay sleeping peacefully. He was a fine, strapping fellow in the prime of life, and though close to fifty he looked nearer forty. It was surprising that he bore his years so well, for Chief-Inspector Gresley had led an eventful life, and the mention of his name was the signal for fear in the lowest strata of humanity. His greatest coup had been cleaning up the Acton gang a few months before this stormy night -a cleaning up which had been devastating and complete. Three members of the evil crew had been executed and eight others sentenced to terms ranging from ten years to life.

Beside Gresley slept his wife, a kind and noble woman.

Down below in the expansive garden a shadow flitted out of the shrubbery to the side of the house where it melted into the darkness of the walls. A second or two passed and then above the sullen roar of the wind sounded a small sharp "crack."

Four more shadows swiftly joined the first.

"It's open," said the man who had crossed the garden first.

"Good!" replied a tall man. "We'll clean them all up. You go straight to the son's room with one of the others and deal with him. We three will go for Gresley and his wife. Ready? Come on." Then to himself he muttered: "Now my brother will be avenged."

The window quietly rode up past its broken catch and the five shadows merged into the dark interior of the house. Stealthily they went up the staircase, revolvers in hands, backs bent double. At the head of the staircase two turned off while the tall man and two companions moved straight forward down the passage.

They paused before a door.

"This must be the room," the tall man whispered. "Be ready."

Softly, he turned the handle. The faint light from a masked torch showed the intruders the double bed with its two sleeping figures. Inch by inch the tall man crept across the room and gently― ever so gently― placed a hand beneath Gresley's pillow. When the hand came forth it held a heavy service revolver. The man stepped back.

"Too easy," he muttered exultantly. "Put on the light."

The room was flooded with light. Gresley stirred a trifle, opened his eyes lazily, and then what he saw made him wide-awake on the instant. His right hand shot beneath his pillow.

"It's all right, Gresley," the tall man said: "I have it here."

Gresley withdrew his hand slowly and looked at the tall man calmly.

"What's the idea?" he asked softly. Mrs. Gresley was shocked mute.

"Know me, Gresley?" the tall man asked.

"Don't I know all the foul Acton breed?" Gresley said. "You're Roy Acton."

Acton smiled. "Foul, are we, Gresley?" he said. "Just what we like to be— foul."

"Every one of you has a kink," Gresley said. "You are fiends. Your father and brother were both executed. I suppose you will go the same way, too, Roy."

"Perhaps so. It is a dashing finish. Anyway, tonight I'm going to earn the right to swing," Acton said meaningly.

''Fancy that!" said Gresley, without moving a muscle of his face at the ominous words. "Well, let's hope you swing before, you can marry and pass on your foul blood. They should smother your whelps at birth."

"Stir your wife up!" commanded Acton. "So you want to risk identification," Gresley remarked.

"Not likely!" Acton chuckled grimly. "Dead men— or women— tell no tales."

Gresley's face hardened. "You're not going to kill her, too?"

"I am," Acton said. "And two of my men are dealing with your son, now."

"Where?" Gresley asked quickly.

"In his room," Acton replied.

"Then that's one of the Gresleys you won't get," Gresley said. "He is staying with friends. And that's the one little slip in your well-laid plans, Acton, which will mean your downfall, for he is every inch the son of his father."

Acton's eyes narrowed and he jerked his head backward.

"See if that's right Mike, and if young Gresley isn't in his room search the house from top to bottom. Johnny, take out your razor."

"Going to give me a shave?" Gresley asked jocularly.

"Sort of a one," Acton replied. "It took me a month to think up a death for you which would satisfy me."

"Sorry to differ," Gresley said, "but I don't think you are."

The other man, big and vicious-faced, stepped towards the bed.

"I don't feel like dying that way," Gresley said. "I'm going to— have a go!"

The man with the razor had reached the bedside as Gresley finished speaking and was in Acton's line of fire. Gresley grabbed at the razor with his left hand while his right fist went true as a bullet to the man's jaw. Difficult though it was to swing an effective blow while sitting up in bed, Gresley's punch was such that the man, dazed, fell across the bed and the razor was in Gresley's hand.

Acton spat a curse and fired as Gresley pushed the man away and threw himself from the bed to the floor.

Mrs. Gresley moaned and moved a trifle— then slept— the soundest sleep of all. The bullet intended for her husband had killed her. It had been merciful.

Gresley leapt from the floor like a maddened panther, the razor gleaming, as Acton again fired— but widely and wildly. Then Gresley was on him.

The fight was short. The other three men were running up the passage and the razor-wielder was rising unsteadily from the bed.

Gresley ducked in under Acton's gun hand and furiously slashed at his legs and body like a mad thing. Acton tried wildly to fight him off as Gresley rose to his full height and struck at Acton's head and shoulders. Acton turned and ran— spurting blood— in an effort to be far enough away from the terrible blade to get in a shot or a punch, but Gresley was close on him all the time.

"Shoot him somebody," screamed Acton in terror. "Get him."

A man appeared in the doorway, gazed a moment at the whirling mass, and fired. The bullet broke Acton's jaw and he fell. Although it was meant to save Acton by disposing of Gresley, it undoubtedly did save him, for when he fell he left the slashing Gresley standing— an easy target for the four bullets which followed immediately. Gresley fell back against the wall.

"You know," he said dully to the crouching gangsters, "I always had a fancy to die fighting." He looked across at his wife's form. "You and I, dear, are still together." He laughed grimly.

The razor hit the floor and Gresley's body slowly slid down the wall— and was still!

Chapter 1

The Sailor Who Was Drunk

THE SAILOR was drunk.

That was most unfortunate for him, as otherwise he might have listened to his companion's word of warning. He was seated at a table in the Madras Cafe with a woman, drinking. The Madras Cafe was not a registered business; it never advertised— in fact wished for anything but publicity. One not of the cognoscenti would have found it rather hard to gain admittance, and then might have been very sorry' he ever succeeded; for the Madras was a sly-grog, of ill-repute, a gambling-hell, and a thieves' clubroom rolled into one. Only the most vicious were brave— or foolhardy— enough to put their noses inside any of its mysterious entrances. Its roof was below ground level, and above it was a very respectable costumiers' shop, the keeper of which did not care whether she sold frocks or not so long as the Madras continued  its evil way. It was piling her bank account up to the skies.

And in this dive was the sailor who was drunk. It was early in the night— a little after nine o'clock— and the woman who had brought the sailor to the place had enticed him there to make sure that what money he had would find its way to her. But she made a mistake in bringing him to the Madras— as she was to discover.

The sailor leered about through the clouds of smoke at the scattered tables and the evil faces which surrounded them in the large room.

"Bright lot here, girlie," he remarked.

"Yes, but you're all right with me," she said.

"Orl right!" the sailor scoffed. "I should just think I was. Little Bennie ain't afraid of nothing an' can always take fine care of himself. Don't you worry about that, sister."

He stared over-hard and belligerently at some of the nearby faces, but the owners of the faces shrugged indifferently at the challenge in his eyes. He was the girl's game, and didn't look worth much at that. The sailor— egotistically satisfied that they were afraid of him— picked up his glass and was raising it to his lips when his attention be came riveted on a doorway in line with his eyes.

A man whose age might be approaching thirty had just come down the steps and was framed in the doorway. He was an extremely incongruous figure in that motley crowd, for he wore an immaculate dinner suit, his black hair was sleekly brushed, and he affected a fine manner. He had a diminutive brush moustache, was tall, and the personification of the English dude, though perhaps even more foppish. A dainty lilac handkerchief fluttered from one sleeve and his cheeks were shaven smooth. As he tapped a perfumed cigarette airily upon a gold cigarette case he surveyed the room with heavy-lidded, languid eyes.

The sailor gasped and set down his drink untasted.

"Fer Gawd's sake, girlie," he exclaimed, "how did that get in here?"

The girl glanced at the doorway and started nervously.

"Never mind him," she said coaxingly. "Never mind him!" echoed the sailor. "He's just what I've been looking for. FIorence Montagu, the girl In the story. You will meet her soon. This place is dead― I'm going to brighten it up. Watch me crack the knut."

The girl grasped the sailor by the sleeve as he lurched to his feet.

"Don't be a fool," she hissed urgently. "That's the Duke!"

The name meant nothing to the sailor. He laughed.

"Duke!"' he said. "Then watch me 'king' him."

He shook off her hand and unsteadily crossed the floor towards the doorway. The man standing there noted his advance, let his eyes linger on him for a second, and then loftily disregarded him.

The sailor stopped a few paces from the object of his scorn. He made several grimaces and went through some crude pantomime meant to imitate a gushing girl.

"Oh, sister!" he said. "However did you get mumma to let you stay out so late?"

The man in the doorway once more allowed his languid eyes to rest on the sailor. Had the latter not been so drunk he might have heeded that the room had become strangely quiet, and that its occupants were gripping the edges of the tables, while watching the scene intently or casting anxious glances at the nearest exit.

"Old chappie, were you addressing those jolly remarks to me?" the man in the doorway drawled.

Then he walked slowly until he was close to the sailor, lighting his cigarette the while. He looked into the sailor's eyes and exhaled a cloud of smoke as he flicked the match airily away.

"Oh," said the sailor, unabashed, "kiss me."

"My friend," the man coldly and softly replied, "you are a fool, but I will kiss you."

The right hand of the man travelled only six inches, but the force behind it was sufficient to lift the sailor's feet from the floor and drop him upon his shoulders with a broken jaw and no more interest in what was going on around him. The man turned on his heel, strolled casually to a vacant table, and sat down, serenely smoking his cigarette. The chorus of relieved sighs in the room was like the sound of a light breeze stirring the leaves of a forest.

Chapter 2

The Snail Receives A Letter

THE SNAIL sat hunched in a chair, smoking moodily. The I name fitted him several ways. His face was frightfully scarred and twisted as well as being horrible in the evilness of its character. His movements were akin to those of a snail in that they were almost always slow, but― as he boasted― sure. He walked on one foot only. The other leg had been amputed at the knee.

Though he gave one the impression of a slimy creature, he had survived many battles, because, despite the fact that he was an arrant coward at heart, he knew the value of bluff, and had never fought fairly in all his life. His evil face made him appear much older than his thirty-three years.

The house in which the Snail resided was a rather elaborate suburban bungalow, for the Snail did himself well and loved comfort. He could afford to indulge himself, for it was openly stated that he controlled one of the greatest organisations of desperate killers and other criminals ever inflicted on humanity.

Across the library table from the Snail sat Dutchy Kleve― his lieutenant and main operative. Dutchy was a well-dressed young man, handsome, intelligent, and rotten to the core. At the moment he was frowning heavily at a whisky and soda he twirled between nervous fingers.

The Snail tapped the table irritably with a short, thick forefinger.

"I can't make out what's come over the. boys," he said testily. "They let this pirate get away with anything he cares to do. Just as soon as I drop out of the active part of the work this man comes in to create trouble. It's up to me to have a rest from the risks of the game— haven't I spent years getting the crowd together— haven't I battled along against the police long enough— didn't I lose my leg in the battling? And now, when I've got everything running smoothly after years of planning and work, you let this joker take what rightfully belongs to me. Looks as though I'll have to step right back into the game again. What is his idea― besides getting away with the lift?"

"Seems to be just a pirate, that's all," Kleve replied. "He waits till we pull off something big, and then takes the stuff from us as we are bringing it home."

"Yes, but how? Do you go to sleep or put it where he can find it or something? How does he do it?''

"Different ways. You never know just where he's going to spring from. He's clever— I'll hand him that. Look at the Byrnes jewel robbery. I spent days on that job— I even drugged the watchman myself to make sure no one would bungle it. I went along with Lash, and Johnny and Ratty and Mike to see that everything would be right, too. We cut a neat hole in the roof. It took Lash two hours' steady work to open the strongroom, and you know what a fast, clean worker Lash is. Then we blew the two jewel safes and looted the shop. We must have had twenty thousand pounds' worth of stuff.

"Then I take a look round to see if everything's clear and that nothing's been left, and suddenly I feel a gun barrel resting on the back of my neck. 'Drop those bags,' someone says, and naturally, I drops 'em. Wouldn't, you? Then someone takes my gun from my hip and the Duke walks out of the doorway near where I was standing and tells the rest of 'em to lift their hands. Just like that. He says, 'Would you boys be kind enough to lift your hands? I don't want to kill any of you— just yet. That would be a beastly nuisance and mess the bally old place up.' So they drops the swag and lifts their hands-remembering as they do the time Simmie got a similar order and was silly enough to reach for his squirt. If you recollect, the Duke drilled Simmie right through the centre of the forehead."

"I remember," the Snail said irritably. "A pity, Simmie was a good worker. Go on. What happened next?"

"Well, none of the boys wanted to get a hole punched through his brains, so they put up their hands. Then the Duke says, "Shrimp, old bean, could I trouble you to relieve these gentlemen of their firearms— they might hurt themselves.' And then the Shrimp— "

"Who's he?"

"He's a little solid-built joker and the Duke's offsider. You don't often see one without you see the other, though you seldom see 'em together, if you get what I mean. The Duke nearly always walks alone, but about ten paces back is the Shrimp with his right hand in his coat pocket, and more'n often there's another joker an extra ten paces, back, and sometimes others as well."

"A gang!" snapped the Snail. "I thought you said "

"Oh, there was only the Duke and the Shrimp at first, but he's getting more men fast. Every day his crowd is growing bigger They seem to be coming from nowhere and joining up with him. He's certainly getting the respect of the lads, and he's a sure leader for all his silly ways. Well, as I was saying, he calls the Shrimp, who comes out of another doorway and takes our guns, Lash's tools, and the jewels. The Duke then says, 'My dear fellows, your common presence pains me. There is an door about you I don't like. Please leave me alone with my thoughts.' And we gets out quick— leaving him the jewels. We watched the joint for an hour with some guns from the car trained on every exit, but he never shows up. He's a bit weird like that— comes and goes— out of nowhere— into nowhere."

Kleve lapsed into thoughtful silence.

"That talk of his," the Snail said after a few moments, "is that put on?"

" 'Course it is," Kleve snorted. "That and his sissy ways and his clothes and his sleepy drawling manner. Every one knows that. But he can move fast enough when. he likes— they know that too, and his toffy ways make that knowledge all the harder to swallow. He's got the wind up 'em all. But he's the sort of toff you see on the films— one of those silly sort one never sees in real life. Why he does it at all I can't make out— he's not real."

"And how did he get into Byrnes' shop?"

"Damned if I know. How does he get anywhere? He's always there— that's all I know. He seems to know every move we make and what we are doing, and when we've done it and got everything pie, he pops up and carts off the stuff."

The Snail leant forward and his eyes narrowed.

"Do you think he knows anything about the big one?" he asked.

"Which— the Montagu girl?"

"Sssh! Yes."

"No, I'm sure he doesn't know anything about that," Kleve replied. "How could he? Only you and me know so far, don't we?"

"Yes, but we'll have to let others in. Get Johnno, Mike, Lash and Carter for the job— they can be trusted. And I'll be in it myself."

Kleve was gazing moodily at the table, but at the last few words he switched his eyes to his chief with a start.

"You will!" he gasped.

"Yes, I will. What's wrong with me? Got any objections? I'm coming back into the game. The Duke's little jokes have got to be stopped and it seems as though I'm the only man who can stop them. There's one thing— he can't scare me like he's got the rest of you scared."

"He hasn't got us scared, boss, he―"

"Then why is he still alive?"

"We've tried to get him, but he's hard -damn hard. He knows we're after him and he's as cunning as the devil and like one of those will o' the wisp things."

"Will o' the wisp, rats! We'll see if he can put any of those tricks over me. The Snail may be slow, but he's damned sure-he'll find that out. I "

There was a crash of breaking glass as something smashed through the doors which gave out on to a small balcony overlooking the side-garden. Both men were crouched down with a gun in each of their right hands before the glass had ceased falling.

In the centre of the floor a stone rolled free of a sheet of paper. They waited a full minute in silence.

"What the devil's that?" the Snail said at last.

Kleve groaned. "I can guess," he said. The Snail looked at the doors intently, and then, rising, placed his crutch beneath his armpit and crossed the room. Still with his eyes on the doors he swept up the sheet of paper.

"Watch those doors," he said to Kleve, "while I look at this."

The Snail straightened out the paper. "It's a note," Kleve heard him say. There was a few moments' silence, then "Hell!"

"That all that's on it?" Kleve asked in surprise.

"No fool! Read it."

Kleve took his eyes from the doors and picked up the note which the Snail had flung on the table.

He read:

Dear Snail,

Jolly happy to hear you are coming back into the game again. Will be very pleased to welcome you. Let's have a silly old war, what!

THE DUKE.

"There you are— what did I say?" Kleve said. "He's uncanny."

"Nothing uncanny about that," the Snail snarled, trying to convince himself he spoke the truth. "He must have been listening."

"But," said Kleve, in an awestruck voice, "we're too far from those doors for anyone to hear!"

FLORENCE Cecilia Helen Montagu stirred uncomfortably in her silken sheets and opened her handsome eyes lazily. The sun— shining on those eyes through a few inches uncovered by the window shade— had awakened her. She raised one shapely arm from the coverlets and pressed a bell by the bedside.

A trim maid appeared in answer to the summons.

"You rang, Miss Montagu?"

"Yes. Beatrice. I wish you would pull the blinds down properly when I go to sleep. This is the second time I have been awakened at an unearthly hour the same way. Please be more careful in future and pull that one down now."

"Yes, miss." Beatrice crossed to the window and adjusted the shade to shut out the glorious sunlight— making a grimace of disgust as soon as her back was turned to her mistress. !

"Beatrice," said the girl in the bed, "what time is it?"

"Half-past ten, Miss Montagu."

"Thank you. Wake me at noon, will you please, and see that there is a street-frock ready for me. I have to be in the city at two. Order the blue sedan and be sure the temperature of the bath is right."

"Yes, miss."

"That will be all. Close the door softly."

And Florence Cecilia Helen Montagu went off to untroubled sleep again.

She was the spoiled only child of an adoring father. Her mother, a fine stamp of brave woman, had died after helping Eugene Montagu make his first million, and now that he was worth several millions there was no one in the world except Florence for him to spend them on or leave them to. Not that the thought of the money ever entered her pretty head. There had always been too much money around her to make it seem anything more than a necessary and inexhaustible trifle.

And men— she was a little weary of them, too. Even the most spoiled child would grow sick of a crowd of men all patterned on the one style ever round her, showering flattery on her, asking her to marry them. She had sense enough to know that in practically every case the men were proposing to Montagu's Millions and not to her. But she had always had the right to pick and choose and then get that which she had chosen, and so she looked all the men over in the same manner as she looked over the latest Paris models, and then decided there was none in stock worth having.

Perhaps, deep-down, this girl had the soul of a real woman, but her butterfly, artificial life had so far never given that soul a chance to show itself. That was Florence Cecilia Helen Montagu, who was to play a large part in a drama of a world she had no idea existed― that world of vague, shadowy personalities, of relentless vendettas, and merciless action― the under stratum of human wolves.

Chapter 3

"Razor" Receives His Baptism

THE YOUNG man in the dark blue suit ground his teeth savagely. His age would appear to be from twenty-two to twenty-five― it was in reality twenty-eight. He was a fine type― cleanly-built, tall, broad, and good-looking. His dark eyes were clear and honest, and the set of his jaw was firm and strong. It seemed queer to see one of his type in that den-and talking to such a quaint figure.

"What has the Snail done to you?" the little man with the twinkling eyes said to the young man in the blue suit. "Stolen your girl friend?-he is certainly handsome enough."

"Done?" The young man spat the word out, disregarding the other's flippancy. "Everything! What more could one man do to another— because of him I am an orphan."

The little man raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"That so? The Duke might be interested. And so you've heard that we birds are having a peck at the Snail. Who told you the glad news?"

"A man named Johnson. I managed to get into a dive and I met him there— he was drunk. I think he is one of the Snail's men.''

"He certainly is. Johnno must have been drunk to open his mouth that wide to you. What exactly did he sing to you?"

"Just that the Snail led the biggest organisation of criminals in this land― an unbeatable gang he called them, and then as an afterthought he said, 'Of course, the Duke is up against him, but the Duke won't last long.' So I decided that anyone who was against the Snail was on my side, and I determined to make a few inquiries about the Duke. What I learnt strengthened the resolve I had made, and finding out that you were the Duke's close companion I came to you as a means of meeting the Duke and joining up with him if possible."

"And what were you doing in the dive?" the Shrimp asked, stroking his long fair moustache.

"It is years ago since the Snail made me an orphan, and I was advised to go away. I went— to wait till I thought I was a fit opponent to extract an adequate revenge from him. You see, my father was a police-officer, and my friends— also mostly connected with the police— watched me pretty carefully, fearful of what I might do. But now I am fit to fight, and I have eluded them, and I am back-willing to do anything to get the Snail."

"It should be an easy matter to kill him," the Shrimp said casually.

"That is not what I want— my hate is deeper than that. I want to make him suffer and suffer and suffer— as I have done. I want to worry him— torture him."

"Hmmm!" The Shrimp twirled a corner of his moustache. He was about, only five feet in height, about forty years of age, lithe and active, quick in every action he made, broad- and with an enormous depth of chest. His long arms made him somewhat resemble a great ape, except that he was far better looking, his face usually wearing a good-humoured, quaint, and comical expression.

"You see," the young man said, "I've come to you with a straight story-as true as a die. I'll even tell you my real name if you press me."

"Yes, maybe you're straight enough," the Shrimp remarked, "and, again-you may be as crooked as a snake with the itch. But can't you see that the straight type is just the type we don't want in our ranks. We're crooks— crooks of the lowest sort, as we prey on our own kind."

"No matter. That will be all the better. I don't care what I do— I am willing to do anything. I don't want any of the proceeds of your robberies— I have saved enough money to carry me through this— saved it with that object. Am I in?"

"I don't know," the Shrimp replied. "You will have to see the Duke-he
maybe knows your history' already. "We certainly want recruits-the biggest underworld war we've ever had is just about to begin."

"It has begun!'' A voice from the doorway made them swing in their
chairs.

The Duke had opened the door and closed it behind him silently.

The young man stepped quickly towards him.

"Stop!" the Duke commanded sharply. "Don't cross that window!"

But the young man was already in line with the open window, and the bullet which sang through the opening passed unpleasantly close to his eyes  and buried itself in the opposite wall.

"Duck!'' snapped the Duke, grabbing the young man by the coat and pulling him to the floor.

"Who is it, Duke?" the Shrimp asked, from where he was crouched below the window-ledge.

"Carter, I think. Don't fire, Shrimp. Wait a moment. We'll try a little game."

The Duke crept, swiftly across the floor to another door which led into a bedroom. A few seconds later he reappeared with a bolster, about which was buttoned his coat, with his hat pinned to its top. The rough dummy was fair enough to deceive anyone a short distance away into believing it was the Duke. The arms of the coat were stuffed with newspaper.

The young man crawled to the Shrimp's side. "Give me a gun— I am a practised shot," he whispered.

"Don't you fire," the Duke commanded. "You'll spoil our fun. Try a shot now, Shrimp."

The Shrimp raised his eyes to a level with the sill and took a cautious survey of the housetops and roofs in a line with the window. It was dusk and a fine rain was falling, yet it was still light enough to see fairly distinctly. The Shrimp's sharp eyes failed to detect any evidence of a living thing, however. He fired casually at a chimney pot; then he waited.

Three minutes dragged by, while the young man wondered at the coolness of these men playing with life and death. There was still no sign of life on the roofs.

"Now be ready, Shrimp," the Duke said as he crawled in under the window.

He raised the dummy very slowly above the ledge until it had gained a position very like a man leaning from the window.

At once an arm, head and shoulder appeared from behind a sloping roof peak and two revolvers sent a slash of fire towards each other. The makeshift dummy did not move as a bullet tore through its feathers, but the figure on the roof was different. It grasped convulsively at the coping, fell forward, hung a moment and then slid backwards out of sight.

The Duke looked at the Shrimp and smiled. "Another one of 'em," he said softly. "Where did you get him, Shrimp?"

"Just below the left eye," the Shrimp replied

The young man looked at the Shrimp to ascertain if he were joking, and was even more surprised when he learned later that the Shrimp's words were absolutely correct. Carter was found on the footpath with a broken neck from his fall and a bullet wound below his left eye. Such was the expertness of the Shrimp's aim with a long-barrelled pistol at thirty yards..

"Any more?" the Shrimp asked.

"No, that's the lot," the Duke replied, rapidly relaxing his business-like attitude and becoming the fop once more. "Our jolly old pal Mossy got the other after I had been shot in my beautiful waistcoat."

He pointed to a neat hole drilled in his waistcoat above the heart.

The young man stared. "Didn't it hurt you?" he gasped.

"Oh, no! What! I take precautions and all that sort of bosh. I am wearing a deucedly uncomfortable steel jacket which no small-calibre bullet ever made could penetrate. Though, mind you, it does give you a bit of a knock."

"And say if they shoot for your head?"

"My jolly old hat is steel-lined."

"And your face?"

"Is hard, but perhaps not hard enough to stop a bullet, old turnip. There would just be a vacancy for another, Duke."

"So you are the Duke," the young man said. " I want to join your organisation."

"I know, old fruit," the Duke said airily. "You can be one of us with pleasure."

"But you don't know anything about me."

"Excuse me, chappie, but I know all about you. I am a funny fellow that way. Such brains I have at times. What will we call you?"

"Oh— er— Jones will do."

"Umm. Jones! I think I've heard that name before somewhere. Some of your relatives perhaps. I think we'll call you Razor instead."

"Razor! Whatever for? You know— "

"Because your face is keen and your clothes would raise a laugh anywhere. Haw! haw! A jolly old pun, what!"

The Duke chortled high in his throat and dropped on a chair. The Shrimp was reloading his revolver. The young man looked from one to the other. There was a faint suspicion of disgust on his face for a moment as his eyes rested on the Duke, and then he caught a glimpse of the dummy which brought back to his mind the hectic few minutes of his introduction to the Duke. The young man smiled.

"You certainly do it well," he said.

"Yaas," the Duke replied, stroking his tiny moustache. "Better take that dummy down, Shrimp. How they do fall for these old jokes! Carter fell all right. The war is on in earnest, Shrimp. I saw the Snail to-day."

"Saw the fine old fellow— where?" asked the Shrimp quickly.

"In the Madras Cafe. He hobbled in and sat down at a table quite near me. 'Hello, old Snail.' I called, 'have a drink with me. old fruit— you need not shout me a drink in return.'"

The Shrimp chuckled. "And what did he do?'' he asked.

"Why, he came and sat at my table. 'Did you think I'd be afraid to?' he asked. 'Perhaps you don't know I'm the mighty Duke, old bean,' I said. 'You kid yourself,' he said quite nicely; 'especially as I've made a bet with myself that you'll be a dead man within four days.' 'You were cautious making that bet with yourself,' I said innocently, 'because I don't feel one tiny bit ill, really.' "

The Shrimp licked along the paper of a cigarette he was making, then grinned.

"What do you think of him, Razor?" he said, turning to the young man.

"Me? I think he's great!" that person replied boyishly. "I'm going to like him immensely."

"We all do," said the Shrimp. "That's why he gets results."

"So then the Snail went back to his table," the Duke went on quickly, cutting short the eulogies, "and the room sighed so thankfully you'd have thought they had been expecting something to happen."

The Duke relaxed into silence while he tapped his carefully manicured thumbnail on his strong, white teeth. He looked thoughtfully at the young man. Then he rose, stretched his arms and turned his half-closed eyes dreamily to the ceiling.

"Lord!" he said softly, "What a conglomeration— the Snail, the Duke, our young friend Razor, the police, and one who knows nothing about any of the others yet— Florence Cecilia Helen Montagu. And war— to the death! The drama really begins."

Chapter 4

A Thrill Provided

ONE of the reasons for Eugene Montagu's success was said to be the fact that he never did anything by halves. He certainly did not stint expenses on the celebration of his daughter's 23rd birthday. His light bill alone must have cost him enough money to support a family of six comfortably for several weeks, for the great mansion was aglow in every corner, inside and out. with globes of varied colours. The immense ballroom was thronged with guests on that eventful Thursday night.

Everywhere was light, colour, beauty, and crowds; and yet, it was here that the Snail proposed to carry out his greatest coup.

At one end of the ballroom stood the reason for it all-Florence Cecilia Helen Montagu. She was attired with more magnificence thrin any person in the room, even though she was dressed with extreme taste and simplicity. She looked sweetly girlish, if somewhat bored, as she bowed right and left, to her guests, bestowing on each a smile which was palpably forced. Her father stood proudly beside her, while nearby hovered a flock of young men-sojne sheep, some wolves, but each intent on diving his hands into Montagu's pile.

"Are you happy, Florence dear?" her father asked, studying her face.

"It is grand, father," she said, not altogether truthfully, "but I have seen it all before. It is always the same— year after year. Tonight I feel that I want something more— something different."

Her father's gaze became troubled. What more could he give this girl who was just up to his shoulder but could, wind him round her dainty fingers. She was of medium height for a girl and he was above the average for a man. "She was not slim, not plump, though the dress she wore showed that her figure was delicately curved. Her hair and eyes were brown and her rounded face ended in a determined, sharp little chin. Her undeniably pretty mouth was not marred by its pettish expression. Her father looked away and sighed.

"Didn't I give you enough presents this year, dear?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, father," she said, letting her hand rest caressingly on his sleeve. "You have been more, than good. No, it is something you cannot buy me. Sometimes I think that my life is too protected. I am like a hothouse flower, and I wonder if I really would die like the flower if I were subjected to the buffets of the world. I never see the real sunshine of life."

"Or the worries of it," Montague remarked.

"No, or its worries. Perhaps it would be better if I did. Life becomes so dreary and monotonous. If only something thrilling would happen I might be satisfied."

"Yes, you might!" Montagu said. "If it wasn't too thrilling. I think that voluntary nursing you have taken up is doing you more harm than good— it is giving you false ideas. I was against it from the first."

The girl noticed a servant standing respectfully by her elbow— one of the many maids who had been added to the staff on account of the birthday festivities.

"What is it?" she asked.

"A lady has taken ill. She is in the library and wishes to see you, Miss."

"Oh? Who is it?"

"I don't know. Miss! I did not inquire her name, as she was so ill."

"What a nuisance!" said Miss Montagu. "But she may be very ill, and I will have to go and see who she is and what she wants. Have you sent for a doctor?"

"Yes, Miss."

"There was no need." Montagu remarked. "There are several doctors among the guests who could have reached the lady sooner."

"The maid didn't know that, father."

"No, of course not. I will come with you."

Florence paused as she turned. "You had better not, father. It is a woman, and perhaps she would prefer me to: come alone."

"Oh, of course." Montagu said. "Don't be long. I will wait here for you."

The Snail was a cunning plotter and made his plans well. Maybe it were better for the millionaire's health that he did not go.

The maid led the girl from the ballroom and down the hallway to the nearby library. Miss Montagu was dimly conscious of the strains of a waltz. The library was a large room, which was almost exclusively reserved for Montagu himself, and it was a particularly light room as it had several glass-doors which opened on to a marble terrace and the garden.

The maid stopped before the closed door, opened It and threw it open wide. Florence bowed to two of her guests who were passing, and then stepped into the room, looking about for the sick woman. At once the light went out and the door closed behind her. She. turned swiftly and indignantly to find the reason.

At that moment a man's scarf was thrown over her head and shoulders and held tightly over her mouth, while strong hands grasped her arms and legs and lifted her from the floor. She tried to scream but found that it was almost an impossibility, even to breathe; tried to kick and struggle, but was held fast. She was quickly taken across the room, held still a moment, and then carried at a jolting run across the terrace-and the lawn. Faintly she heard the throb of a motor engine, then she was bundled into a car— still firmly held.

The car began to move immediately. It had all taken less than two minutes.

She struggled to free her head, as she was stifling.

"Better lift the scarf or she'll smother," a rough voice said.

"All right," another voice replied, and she breathed free air again.

"Don't move or make a sound, miss," a man said, "or we'll have to treat you rough. Not only that, but we might have to shoot you."

She caught the glint of a street-light on a nickelled revolver, and shuddered. Her heart was thudding at her throat― she was almost breathless with fear. And yet, the training of years was asserting itself― underlying her fear was a feeling of annoyance at the liberty these men had taken.

The car was a closed one and travelling at a fast rate. When she was sufficiently composed to look about her she noticed that each side of her sat a masked man, while on the front seat was a man crouched over the wheel. Another man was beside him. She saw that resistance was useless— she was one against four, and those four were armed men. But at least she had woman's age-old weapon— she could talk.

"What is the meaning of this?" she said indignantly, though she could not altogether suppress the quiver in her voice.

"There's no harm in telling her, is there, Mike?" one of the men beside her asked.

"No harm now," Mike replied.

"It means this— that you have been kidnapped and are to be held for ransom."

"Ransom!" the girl gasped.

"Yes, ransom— for one million pounds."

"One million pounds! Impossible!"

"Nothing impossible about it. Your old man's got it, ain't he?"

The girl understood that her father, was meant by "old man."

"I suppose so," she said hazily, "but he won't pay it."

"Won't pay it!" broke in Mike grimly, "Don't you worry about that. He'll pay when he knows that if he don't you'll have your throat cut."

The girl screamed with fear, and the men both grabbed at her mouth.

"Cut that out," said Mike, "or I'll jam the scarf over you again."

"I think you put it a bit hard all of a sudden," the other man said with a chuckle, "What are we stopping for— we can't be there yet."

The car stopped and the driver and his companion turned in their seats.

"Nevertheless, old bean," the driver said softly, "this is where you jolly well alight."

"The Duke!" cried Mike, and raised his revolver, but a hand shot in the side window and grasped his wrist.

"I think I'll take that," said the Shrimp, who had been haying an uncomfortable ride on the running board.

The man on the other side of the girl did not reach for his gun. His eyes were fixed on the unwavering muzzle of a revolver held by the young man who sat beside the Duke.

"Where's Kleve and Lash?" he asked hoarsely, recovering rapidly from his surprise.

"Lying in Montagu's garden with big lumps on their craniums pondering on the jolly foolishness of sitting in a car waiting to be crept upon and clouted. Get out, Johnno, and you, Mike."

"What's the game?" asked Mike surlily, rubbing his wrist where the Shrimp's grip had been a trifle severe.

"Same old game— of put and take," the Duke replied "You jolly well put in the deuced fagging energy and I come along and take out the prize.''

The two men climbed down reluctantly. All they could see about them were paddocks.

"Curse you, Duke," Mike snarled. "I'll get you yet."

"That's all right, old cabbage; wish you luck in your laudable endeavours— you'll need it. Hope you have a nice walk home to the shell of the Snail. He'll be pleased to see you, I'm sure. Jump in the back, Razor and Shrimp."

"How well it has all turned out," Florence— who had been an interested spectator— said. "I have had my thrill, been kidnapped and now I'm saved."

Razor and the Shrimp took their seats one each side of her.

"Sling your gun in the car like a good boy, Johnno," the Shrimp said, looking along his pistol. "We don't want any parting shots. And no funny tricks or the world will lose one clown— and I'll earn a vote of thanks from the public."

Johnno was quite aware of the accuracy of the Shrimp's aim, and at such close range the idea of playing any risky tricks was farthest from his mind. He took his gun from his pocket and dropped it in the car.

"Good-bye, old frankfurts." the Duke said, beaming benevolently at them. "Thank the Snail for the loan of the car and give him my kind regards and all that sort of jolly rot. Toorooloo."

The car jumped forward and soon its tail-light was but a speck in the distance.

The two men in the roadway swore loud, long, and lustily.

Then Mike gasped and grasped Johnno by the arm. Johnno followed the direction of his eyes— and laughed.

Chapter 5

The Choice of Two Evils

"NOW YOU can take me home to father," Florence said as soon as the car was under way.

The two men beside her were silent.  She looked at them and frowned.  Surely these men were against the other men and therefore rescuers—  she had been mistaken? Evidently the man in the evening clothes was the leader, and maybe he had forbidden these men to talk. She leant forward and tapped the driver on the back.

"You are taking me to daddy, aren't you?" she asked cajolingly.

"Sorry to disillusion you, Flo old girl," the Duke said over his shoulder, "but I'm afraid you won't see your Daddy till he tears himself loose from a cool million."

"I beg pardon?" Florence asked, not understanding.

"What I mean to say and all that sort of bosh is that you are no better off than you were before— or rather, what I should say is that you are better off, as we won't slit your pretty little throat or any of that beastly business, but we really are holding you for ransom— for one million pounds."

Florence subbed with a gasp.

"Then you are helping those other men?" she cried.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," the Duke threw back with a chuckle,  "though they were helping us— without knowing it. You see, they belong to one lot of crooks who— er— acquire things. While we are members of another crowd— who acquire what they acquire."

"I don't understand." We girl murmured a trifle tearfully.

"No, I didn't make it too beastly clear, that's a jolly fact. I could hardly understand it myself."

"Oh, please take me home,'' Florence pleaded.

"That shall be done immediately we receive one million pounds from your father. And now, Flo, old girl, please don't talk— it takes my mind off my driving, which is dangerous for all concerned."

"Flo, old girl," the girl echoed, striving to make her voice as indignant as she felt. "Not content; with kidnapping me, you must insult me."

"Is it an insult to be called by one's name? Oh, well, if you take it that way I will call you Hell— short for Helen, you know. Haw, haw, haw!"

"You are a beast and a fool— a coward and no gentleman." The girl was roused now.

"Shrimp," said the Duke whimsically, "she's getting to know me fast. Now, be quiet, girlie, we're nearing our destination, and if you make the slightest sound we will have to deal harshly with you."

The girl could not misunderstand the tope of the last words and she relapsed into silence. She felt very frightened, desperately wanted to cry, but she firmed her chin and decided to show no signs of weakness.

The car was running through narrow, mean streets now. Suddenly it, lurched into a laneway and stopped.

"We get out here," the Duke said in a low voice, and suiting the action to the word climbed down. The girl found herself gently but firmly bundled out by the two men.

"Take the car somewhere far enough away and dump it, Shrimp," the Duke said briskly. "Mossy has followed us all the way in our car and I have given him orders to follow you. Where you dump the car he will pick you up. Come straight back here with him and leave Mossy outside keeping a look out."

"Right, Duke," the Shrimp said, climbing into the driving seat of the car. "I'll see to the doings and be back in half an hour."

The Duke and the young man grasped the girl's arms and led her through a gate and down three steps to a door.

"Don't make a sound, girlie," the Duke said softly. "It will be worse for you if you do; even were you to escape from us you are in the midst of the city's worst dens and might meet with a far more unpleasant fate than being in our happy company. Remember that."

The girl sighed dismally.

The Duke opening the door with a key, they went along a passage and up a staircase. There was no light and the darkness was intense. On the stairs she stumbled and almost fell.

"Better carry her, Razor," the Duke hissed.

Razor swept the girl up in his arms without an effort, and they climbed on. Four flights the girl counted— then almost silently along a passage-and a door was opened, they entered a room and the door was closed.

The young man set her down as the Duke switched on the light.

The girl gazed around her and at her companions— both of whom surprised her— the Duke with his foppishness and the young fellow with his clean, manly bearing. The chamber was a plainly furnished living-room. Two doors opened from it on the opposite side to the door they entered.

"Welcome to my humble flat," the Duke said. "I took it only to-day-or rather my young friend did— especially for your reception. You see, I was sure of myself— I have great faith in the methods of the Snail."

The girl was beginning to recover from the first shock of her capture. Her fear was not so all-devouring. She looked from the Duke to the young man.

"He might be anything," she said, nodding towards the Duke and speaking to Razor, "but you— you don't look like a low character."

"Ah!" broke in the Duke, "you never can tell. There you behold Razor Jones — a thoroughly vicious type of beastly criminal."

The girl withdrew a pace from Razor in alarm. The young man looked at the Duke with a dry smile.

"No," the Duke said, "it's cruel to frighten you. Razor is a harmless person where women are concerned, but brave as a lion in a fight. Your first impression was correct. Stick close to Razor and you'll be all right."

The girl gave a little sigh and sat down on one of the rough chairs, looking round the room with disgust.

"And— do I have to live— here?" she asked, repugnance in every syllable.

"Yes, for a time. Not exactly a bally old palace, is it, but then you see we don't happen to have your pater's filthy lucre, though we live in hopes of having some of it."

The girl glanced at the window, then at each of the doors. The Duke dropped In a chair opposite her.

"Listen, girlie," he said earnestly, "I want to speak seriously to you. I am known as the Duke and I lead a small organisation. I am a kind of enemy of a man called the Snail— let's hope you never meet him— who leads a far larger crowd of criminals— three of whom live in this house. That is the reason I brought you here as I guess it's the last place in which he'll look for you. Now the police will be looking for both the Snail and myself— or if not me, you— but before you get to the police you must leave this house and that means running the risk— a big one— of being captured by the Snail's men. You see, in every way I can, I utilise some of his men without their knowing it. His many men are always assisting my few, but they never know it till too late. It was the Snail's men who carried you off tonight. They didn't find they had done that little job for me until too late. You understand what a position you are in. The Snail and I are fighting each other for possession of you— or rather the cool million which you represent. We have ways of beating the police. You have the choice of two evils— the Snail's crowd or mine— and believe me, and I say it very sincerely, for your own good you will stay with mine. We are square, honourable men to a certain degree, but they are— brutes. So it would be wiser if you kept quiet here and not allowed anyone in the house to get an inkling that Razor is sheltering a girl in his flat."

"And, likewise, not allow the police to get an inkling of the same thing?" she said scornfully.

Razor turned from the window.

"That's pretty clever, Duke," he said. "I wondered why you wanted me to take this flat. It seemed risky to me."

"Clever, you call it!" the girl sneered. "Very clever to trap a defenceless girl. Cowardly, I'd call it."

"Now, now," said the Duke soothingly. "Look at it this way. Say, for instance, that I hadn't taken you from the Snail's men. They might have cut your throat by this."

Florence shuddered and hid her face with her hands. She was beginning to feel the unusual strain. She dropped her head on her arm on the table and cried softly.

The Duke lit a cigarette and smoked silently. The young man sprawled on a chair and gazed moodily at the floor. The girl grew quiet. The faint tick of the Duke's wristlet watch could be distinguished by the young man some feet away. Minutes passed.

The girl slowly raised her head and stared at the two men with reddened eyes. Both men were thoughtful and seemed to have forgotten her. The Duke was staring at the ceiling. He had rather fine eyes, she thought— humorous and kind— and yet— there seemed a lot hidden behind their dreamy droop.

A soft knock sounded on the door and it seemed to the girl as if what she saw was magic. The Duke held an automatic pistol in his hand where none had been a moment before. He nodded to Razor.

The young man rose, took the key which the Duke held out with his free hand and opened the door carefully. The Shrimp edged into the room.

"Dumped the car," he said in the quick, jerky way he sometimes affected. "How you going to chat Montagu for the money?"

"Telephone in about an hour's time. Where's Irish?"

"Let me see— he'd just be getting relief now from Peter. Want Irish?"

"Not in any hurry," the Duke said with a smile. "I'd just like to know how the Snail took it, that's all— his biggest coup gone west."

The girl was looking at Razor, and she was surprised at the look of unholy joy which lighted up his boyish face at the Duke's last words.

"I'll bet it hurt, damn him," the young man began. "I hope―"

He paused abruptly as the Duke held up his hand with a warning gesture.

They listened. Something scraped the wall outside the doorway.

Someone was in the passage!

Chapter 6

Tables Turned.

THE four in the room did not move a muscle for a few seconds. Both Shrimp and the Duke had guns in their hands. Then Razor broke the spell by reaching for the pocket in which lie kept his revolver: The Shrimp stepped  softly to the door and listened with his ear against it. He was still for a moment; then he looked toward the Duke and made a motion of breathing and jerked his head at the door. The Duke crossed his legs elegantly, and rested his gun-hand on his knee. Then he made a motion to open the door

The Shrimp turned the key and quickly flung the door wide.

Framed in the doorway was the Snail! He was calmly blowing the ash from a cigarette. The girl took one look at his hideous face, choked off a scream, shuddered and turned her head away.

"Why this jolly visit, old chappie?" the Duke drawled softly.

"I've just come to take the girl— and you," the Snail remarked in the same cool voice.

"So easy as that, old banana?" the Duke drawled.

"So easy as that. Now, don't do anything rash, Duke, or you, Shrimp, or you, young fellow. Rowley and the rest of you— you may come in."

The two doors behind the Duke opened and two men with levelled revolvers appeared in each opening— also two men appeared beside the Snail, similarly armed. The Duke gazed from one to the other of the six, and noticed with a light inward surprise the familiar faces of Johnno and Mike— whom he had last seen standing cursing in the roadway several miles away. He did not move from his elegant post— his gun unwavering. The Snail hobbled into the room.

"You see, Duke," he said, "the Snail is in the game himself now, and things have finished going easy with you. Did you think I wouldn't take precautions tonight so that you wouldn't cruel my game?"

"Jolly clever of you, old fruit," the Duke drawled. "Give us a little lecture on how you did it."

The Snail smiled— and his smile was always— twisted and hideous.

"It was easy," he said bombastically. "All I had to do was shadow my own car with another. I saw you knock out my men and place them in Montagu's garden, but I was powerless then, being alone— as you know— a cripple. When you drove away with. Mike and Johnno and the girl I followed. I was only a hundred yards from you when you dropped my men and I picked them up a moment after you left— and followed you here. This place made it easy. You thought you were clever, whereas you. were playing into my hands. These flats have fire escapes leading to the bedroom windows, and so it was a simple matter to place men all round you. Then make a slight noise— you obligingly open the door, and-hey presto! the trick is done."

"You swine!" Razor said.

"Shush!" the Duke said reprovingly: "You must never speak of our esteemed friend thus. You must also remember that he was not won the game yet.  For instance, you will recollect that I had Mossy posted on look-out outside these flats, and he must have seen what was going on. And then the Snail— although a trailer— would not be without a little trailer of his own— perhaps two of them."

The look of complacency on the Snail's face clouded swiftly. But a second later he smiled.

"Ah," he said, "maybe that is so, Duke, but what's the use of them somewhere else? You want them here. Where are they now, eh?" He chuckled.

"Well, Slimy One," the Duke replied, "if you care to turn your jolly old neck and take a look you will see Mossy standing behind your man in the doorway with a gun in each hand, and each gun an inch from their heads."

The Snail turned sharply. He snarled as he found that the Duke had spoken the truth. A thin, consumptive-looking young man was standing close behind the Snail's men, and he was pressing a gun hard against each man's head.

"Don't move an inch," he was saying through his teeth, "or I'll blow your heads off."

"And, if I'm not mistaken," the Duke went on caressingly, "a panoramic survey. will show you that Peter is now in the same position behind two of your men in one bedroom door, and Irish is ditto behind the other two. I have great faith in my men. They are always ready for emergencies. You should teach your men to be like that, Snail; it would be a great, help to you. Just see if I'm right."

The Snail' had already seen, as was evidenced by his twisting, snarling lips.

"Collect those six jolly old peashooters, Razor, if you don't mind," the Duke said languidly as he pocketed his own gun.

Razor grinned triumphantly at the Snail and obeyed with alacrity. The six men— each with a gun pressed to his skull— seemed only too eager to surrender their weapons. They rather feared to think of the consequences if they accidentally pulled the trigger.

"Another thing, Snail," the Duke said. "You will have noticed with your usual perspicacity that my men always carry two guns. You never know when you'll jolly well lose one, you know, and sometimes if you're being searched one gun is found your searcher is satisfied giving you the opportunity to use the other one. I charge nothing for my information old slimy creature— if it is handy to you— use it?"

"Go on— cut out the balderdash and get down to business," the Snail snarled. "What's the next move?"

"Well, I'm going to jolly well move from here," the Duke drawled, "I don't think the place is healthy. There can't be enough air— since you came in there is an obnoxious effluvia. But I'm in no hurry. Sit down. Snail, old insect— what is a snail, anyway? Come in all you smaller shells— there's tons of room and you're welcome. Please don't go too close to the young lady— she's particular. Shrimp, you go and sit on the stairs. Razor, you go out and sit on that silly old fire-escape. Mossy, Irish, and Peter, please stand in the doorways where you are and if anything starts don't mind my delicate constitution— just fire away."

The Snail's six men entered the room surlily and lined along the far wall— the others went to, or stayed at, their posts. The Snail dropped on Razor's recently vacated chair and leant his crutch against the wall. The girl had been crouched up in a ball of fear since the Snail's entry but now she had relaxed and took a deep breath. The Duke looked at her and smiled. He nodded at the six lined up men.

"Regardez, cherie," he drawled. "The Snail's beauty chorus."

The girl took one glance at their collective ugliness and smiled in spite of herself.

"When making the choice I spoke about," went on the Duke, "I hope you give us first prize for looks at least."

"Come on," the Snail snapped testily. "Why all this dilly-dallying about?"

"Don't you know, old animal— if a snail is an animal— or perhaps it's a vegetable?" the Duke asked quizzically. "I'm waiting— waiting for your men downstairs to start something."

"Oh, you know they're there, do you?" the Snail said.

"I can make a jolly good guess, because I'm almost intelligent at times. I would have made a really good clairvoyant. And so I wait."

"For them to make the first move? They'll never do it. They know better than to show their hand."

"That, my dear old fruit," the Duke said, "is not what I am waiting for. Where are Morry and Tom and the Rose, Peter?"

"I sent them word to be here," Peter replied, "They should be here by now."

"So you see, old Snail, I am waiting on my reserves to come up. I have the pretty, child to protect, and being law-abiding and peace-loving I want no gunplay. I have a peculiar whim to walk out of here without a deuced lot of racket and all that sort of rot. First you had us— now we jolly well have you, but— there's the rub— we are within your cordon still. Until your cordon is within our cordon things are not safe. I am an ardent disciple of "Safety First." Clear, old chappie?"

"Yes, you―"

"No names, please!" the Duke broke in quickly, "there is a lady present and I would hate to see a defenceless man injured. Which reminds me that it would be just as well if I had your gun. I collect the silly things.

The Snail glanced at the stern men in the doorways then drew an automatic from his pocket and threw it on the floor. The Duke leant forward and lazily picked it up-then straightened his back with a jerk.

From the yard below came the short sharp bark of a revolver-twice!

Chapter 7

The Shadow On The Blind

THE SOUND OF voices harshly issuing imperative commands drifted up to 'the tense figures in the room. Then silence;

"It sounds," the Duke remarked, "as though my friends have called to drive me home from the party."

A voice called up from somewhere below and Razor's voice was heard in reply from the fire escape. Then Razor called through the window into the flat.

"All clear, Duke."

The Duke rose, stretched himself, and surveyed the room casually. -

"It seems, Snail," he said, "as though no general is a good one unless he has plenty of reserves— or perhaps I should say— something in reserve. We must be both good generals. Now I must leave you, as I have business elsewhere. Come in, Shrimp, old pal; we leave via the handy old fire-escape."

The Shrimp entered the room from the landing.

"Lock that door and keep the key," the Duke told him. You will also remain here till I call that we are right. Mossy, you get down to the car. Peter, lock your door and mizzle. Take up your stand in Irish's door. Shrimp, and shoot the first man who moves. You can go too, Irish. Tell Razor on your way out to wait for me. And you, my dear," he turned to the girl who had risen to her feet, "do you prefer to stay here or come with us?"

The girl shuddered and started towards him quickly.

"Oh, don't leave me here," she gasped. "Don't―"

The Duke caught at her. "Bear up, little girl," he said. "Don't faint now, for goodness sake. You have been so brave, too."

The girl was white and trembling with fear.

"I'll be all right in a moment," she choked bravely, "Get me some water."

The Duke led her to the kitchenette and got her a glass of water. She drank thirstily. Then he led her past Shrimp.

"As soon as we are all right I'll give you a call," he said softly to the Shrimp. "Then lock the door on them and move quickly."

"I'll be right." said the Shrimp loudly. "I have my old gun and I could eat the lot of them without condiments. My trigger finger has an itch too."

"I know you could eat them— though you might die of poisoning," the Duke said. "That's why I am letting you cover our retreat."

The Duke poked his head back into the living-room.

"Au revoir, Snail," he said. "Next time, perhaps, eh?"

"Next time, perhaps," said the Snail, grimly.

"Yes, perhaps," said the Duke and vanished from the Snail's sight.

But not for long. A few moments later his head appeared again.

"Oh, I forget to tell you," he drawled. "Tell Kleve to put butter on the lump on his head; it soothes!"

"Go to hell," said the Snail.

"Certainly, old fruit, anything to oblige when the time comes,"

Razor had already carried the girl down the fire-escape when the Duke again reached it. The Duke followed quickly. The fire-escape ended ten feet from the ground and Razor was waiting on the bottom landing to lower the girl. The Duke dropped over the edge to the ground.

"Right, let her go, Razor," he said.

Razor grasped the girl by the wrists and swung her gently from the landing in the air. She did not struggle or whisper at the unusual sensation— she was not afraid of these men any longer. In fact, she felt that they were almost her friends— even more reliable than most of her higher-class friends. Razor released her wrists and she dropped to be gently, but firmly, caught a second later by the Duke. Razor dropped as the Duke set her down.

"Take her to the car. Razor," the Duke said, "and tell Mossy to drive you to number three depot. Keep her there."

"But what about you, Duke?"

"I have to wait for the Shrimp to see that he gets clear. Wait at number three for me."

"Right, Duke."

At the gate the girl looked back. The Duke was standing nonchalantly beneath the fire-escape.

There was only one man in the car when they reached it and the girl wondered where the other men were.

"Are there no others going with us?" she asked.

"They have all gone to execute the various orders of the Duke— at lease Irish is off duty and has gone home. Three of them have a crowd of the Snail's men held up in a far corner of the yard— I thought you saw them— and there are not many of us all told. But every one of us is a true loyal man the Duke sees to that. Mind the guns as you step in— the trophies of war."

It was as well he spoke as the girl found a veritable armoury littering the floor. On the instant an idea leapt to her mind— to seize a gun and escape.

"I wouldn't if I were you," the young man said, defining her thought. "You see they are all empty now and if you escaped here you wouldn't know your way about and might fall in to the Snail's hands."

"That fearful Snail!" the girl said with a shudder and drove all thoughts of escape from her mind.

"Drive to number three, Mossy," Razor said to the driver as he dropped oh the seat beside the girl. "Make sure we're not followed.

"Bet your life I will, but what about the Duke?"

"He's coming on later. He wants to get the girl safe first."

Mossy let in the clutch arid the car moved forward. The girl sat back.

"Have you been one of this gang long?" she asked the young man.

"Just joined," said' the young man, so shortly that she took it that personal questions were out of order. But she wanted to talk now that the tension of the last hour or so had passed.

"What a peculiar man the Duke is!" she remarked, striking unconsciously on Razor's pet subject.

"It's only his way," he said more warmly. "He is always posing."

"But what good does it do?"

"It puzzles his enemies and to puzzle one's enemies is half the battle-especially when you can shoot straight as a die and have a punch like a ton of dynamite let loose."

"He seems rather nice," the girl remarked, "even though he is a criminal."

"The Duke is true as steel," Razor said enthusiastically. "He has a heart of gold— though it can be a pretty hard heart to some."

"You know," the girl said softly, "only a few hours ago I told Daddy I wanted a thrill and the last few hours have been one long thrill."

"You don't want to be frightened," Razor said. "You are all right with us until your father coughs up the million."

"We are passing through a lighted street now. What would happen if I leaned from the window and screamed for help?"

"Mossy would promptly step on the juice and I would just as promptly pull you back and place my hand over your mouth."

"But that would be very rough. I am only a girl and you seem to be a gentleman."

She moved a little closer to him.

"Giving all that in," Razor replied, "those things would have to be forgotten. The Duke doesn't want you to get away and the Duke's wishes always have first preference."

She moved away again and pouted. "But wouldn't the fact that I'm pretty make any difference to you?" she asked coyly.

"Nothing makes any difference where the Duke is concerned— not even your modest estimate of your looks." (she was not sure whether it was sarcasm or compliment). "You must remember you are not among your society friends now— with those men it might make a difference." The last a trifle contemptuously.

Florence sighed and gave up all hope of "vamping" this young man.

"I shall tell the Duke what a staunch adherent he has," she said bitterly.

"I'd like you to do that," he replied sincerely.

"And what a cold one."

"He would like that better still."

"We're nearly there," Mossy said over his shoulder. "Be ready to move fast. Wait! there's something queer. There shouldn't be a light up there."

Razor leant from the slowly-moving car and gazed up at a block of flats ahead. On the first floor one window was illuminated.

The shadow of what seemed a man appeared for an instant on the blind— then was gone.

The light went out!

"There's someone up there— someone who has no right to be," Razor hissed; "Slow the car as you pass and I'll go up and see. Stop at the corner and look after the girl. I'll signal from the window when everything's right.

He swung open the door, leapt from the moving car and vanished into the flats.

And though Florence and Mossy waited and waited the signal never came!

Chapter 8

The Figure On The Footpath.

MOSSY, forced to remain in the car by the girl's presence in it, every anxious moment was a torture. He could do nothing, however, and it was half an hour before the Duke's tall form came into view. He was walking quite casually, as though he had not a care in the world, though Mossy knew his exes were darting in all directions. The thin young man leant from the car, beckoned and quickly withdrew. The Duke made no sign that he had seen, but it was enough for Mossy that the Duke passed the entrance to the flats and came on. When he drew level with the car he looked up at the buildings, and then turned and addressed Mossy as though speaking to a stranger. The Shrimp— who had been walking some distance behind the Duke— had stopped near the entrance to the Café.

"Tell me, old fellow," the Duke said, "where are the Petrograd flats?" Then sharply, but without changing his casual attitude, "What's wrong, and why is the girl still in the car?"

Mossy told him in short, crisp sentences what had happened. Some of the languidness departed from the Duke as he listened. He was thinking rapidly as Mossy finished his recital.

"Stay here," the Duke said. "I'll send the Shrimp to you." More loudly he said, "Thank you for the direction, my friend."

He turned and lounged back past the Shrimp, and entered the flats. The Shrimp followed him in.

"What's doing, Duke?" the Shrimp asked, as they paused in the dark lobby.

"There was a light in the flats when Razor arrived, and he left the girl with Mossy and went up to investigate, and that was the last seen of him. There's only one thing to do with the girl now -she'll have to go out to Number One. You take her while I go upstairs."

"Listen, Duke," the Shrimp said seriously, "I'm always willing to take orders from you, but you're not going up those stairs alone— that's final. If there's any trap I want to be there."

The Duke looked at the Shrimp with a smile.

"And while we're up there they'll come along and get the girl," he said. "Especially if they happen to get us both. The gang can't afford to lose us both."

"I'm coming up."

"If they have Razor they must know where the girl is," the Duke persisted, "or can make a guess she's somewhere near."

"Well, you take her to Number One," the Shrimp replied doggedly, "and I'll go up alone."

As he spoke he commenced to leap softly up the stairs. The Duke frowned and followed. They reached the first floor and went softly till they stopped before a door where they stood listening. There was not a sound anywhere. It was after one o'clock, and most of the other occupants of the flats were asleep. The Duke looked at the lock. It had been neatly and completely sawn out. He pushed the door open a very little. Then he stepped to one side of the doorway, the Shrimp stepped to the other and the Duke pushed the door wide open. There was no sound from the darkened room. The Duke put his hand round the corner of the door and switched on the light. Their eyes, looking along their levelled pistol beheld nothing more than an empty room, and propped up against a vase on the centre table— a piece of paper.

"Stay here." the Duke said, and advanced into the room.

He picked up the piece of paper and read what was written on it.

"They've got Razor," he said. "Listen. 'When we get the girl you get Razor. No girl and Razor dies in a few hours. Leave her where we can find her.-K.'"

"Kleve!" hissed the Shrimp. "I suppose they've seen you coming here and know this place, and as soon as Kleve came round he came here, thinking you'd bring her here. But I thought that when the search began for the girl the police would find Kleve and Lash in the garden and grab them."

"They'd easily get out of that," the Duke remarked. "Kleve would tell them that Lash and he were passing, saw the girl being kidnapped, tried to interfere, and got knocked out for their pains. The story would ring true, as no one would expect the girl to knock them out; and even had she done so their own friends would have carried them off."

"That's fright, and then they'd be complimented, given a drink, asked a few questions, and allowed to go. I suppose Lash and Kleve came here, got into the flat by sawing out the lock— Lash always has a kit of tools with him, and that neat job looks like his work— and then waited inside for someone to come in with the girl. Razor entered, they clouted him or held him up, but there was no girl, so they carted him off and left the note."

"That seems to be the lay of it," the Duke said. "Now the thing to consider is whether they took Razor out the back to some other place, or whether he is still in these flats. We can't very well wake everyone up to search the "

He paused abruptly. To his ears had come the sound of the starting of a car. He and the Shrimp reached the window together, and tore down the blind.

A street light showed them two things— one was their car moving swiftly up the street, and the other was the figure of Mossy stretched out on the footpath.

The Duke swore softly, though inside he was boiling.

"They've got us moving now, Shrimp," he said between his teeth. "I hope they don't kill Razor right away, and I don't want that girl to remain in their hands too long."

"We're not beaten— there's Peter yet," the Shrimp said hopefully.

"Yes— he's our last chance. But if anything happens to him "

"Let's not think about that," the Shrimp said quickly. "All we can do now is to attend to Mossy and wait."

"Wait! I don't feel like waiting. For once I can't get cool. There's a lot of steam which will boil over if I don't let off some of it. Where and when is Peter due?"

"At Number One in an hour and a half's time," the Shrimp answered.

"An hour and a half," mused the Duke. "I can't sit here and wait. I can't think like that. I'm going to see what they have done to Mossy, and then down to the Madras. Coming?"

"Yes, of course."

The two men went down the stairs and up the street to where Mossy lay in a pool of blood. The Shrimp bent over him.

"Laid his skull open," he said, "but doesn't seem to have broken it. We'll run him up to Doctor Thorn's and leave him there. Then we can go on to the Madras."

The Duke, went to a public telephone box near by and 'phoned a taxi to convey Mossy to the doctor's. Dr. Thorn was a good practitioner as well as being a shrewd man of business. He knew most of the big crooks, and more secrets than a father confessor-and kept them as closely. He lived in a district where to ask questions was to court trouble, and as most of his business came from split faces, split heads, and bullet wounds, he made no comments as the Shrimp and the Duke carried Mossy into his surgery.

"Nothing serious— a few stitches will do the trick," was his diagnosis as he stropped a razor to shave away the hair from about the wound.

"Keep him here till he comes round," the Duke said., "And tell him everything's all right, and to go home and stay in bed till he hears from me. I will leave the taxi at the door for him, and will call in later and fix up with you, Doctor."

"All light, Duke," the doctor said with a smile. "Don't get killed before you pay me. Good-night."

Ten minutes' walk brought them to a costumier's shop where the Duke knocked five distinct times. The door was opened at once by an unseen agency. The look-out had recognised the visitors from where he was posted in a window above, and from there he had operated the door. The Duke and the Shrimp entered the darkness and the door closed behind them. Despite their lack of light they went surely, as they knew the way. They walked through the shop to a back room, turned' right and pushed a panel in the wall aside. Then down two short flights of stone steps led them to the entrance to the cafe. The Duke paused in the doorway-a habit of his once noted by a drunken sailor-and looked about him. The place was crowded. The Shrimp took up a position at the Duke's elbow.

Across the room at a table sat three men drinking beer. One looked up as the Duke appeared, and nudged his companions. They glanced over at the Duke, and smiled in a superior, triumphant fashion.

"There's Johnno and Mike and Ratty, over there," the Duke said softly to the Shrimp. "They evidently know something, too, by their self-satisfied looks. Good news travels, fast."

"Can't know about the girl," said the Shrimp. "Must be about Razor going off."

"Good audience here tonight, Shrimp," the Duke said softly. "Think I'll start something to while away the time, and take those grins off their faces."

"Don't be a fool, Duke!" the Shrimp said quickly. "You might ruin everything."

"Might," said the Duke, "but I have a notion that I won't. I don't feel like waiting— I feel restless and annoyed with myself, and I must let off steam and pass time somehow."

The Duke stepped from the doorway and lounged across the cafe floor, nodding gaily to a few acquaintances— who were extremely honoured— and picking his way fastidiously between the tables. He was headed for the table of the three men. They saw him coming, the leers faded from their faces, and they stiffened in their chairs, their right hands dropping to their laps.

The Shrimp leaned on the door-jamb with his hands in their usual places, his heavy coat pockets. He noted with amusement the fear creeping on to the faces of the room's occupants, and the electric feeling of expectancy in the air, and his eyes were fond as they rested for a second on the Duke.

The Duke came to the table of the three, and threw one leg over its corner-his back to Ratty, but not in such a way that he screened Ratty from the Shrimp.

"So you jolly well didn't have to toddle all the way home after all, Johnno," the Duke said conversationally.

Johnno sipped his beer in stony silence.

"Ever feel you'd like to die, Johnno?" the Duke asked in the same tone.

"No, why?" Johnno asked, startled into speech.

"Just jolly well asking for something better to do. Deuced bore loafing about with no one to talk it. I thought I'd bally well ask you, too, because I have a silly habit of killing skunks."

"Names don't hurt one," Johnno said scornfully, "and ain't no use in this game."

"Johnno," the Duke said silkily, "what do you say to a 'fair go'?"

"What d'yer mean?"

"I mean," the Duke drawled, looking up at the ceiling, "what do you say if we clear the centre of the floor and have a fist fight-fair and square?"

Fear leapt quickly into Johnno's eyes.

"Have him on, Johnno," snarled Mike, "you're heavier than him."

"Would you care to accept my invitation?" the Duke drawled to Mike, at which Mike blanched and looked away. "You're heavier still. You should jolly well eat me. Only just to pass away the evening in a happy fashion."

"You got lots of talk, Mike," Johnno was quick to turn and say. "You have him on."

"He picked you first," Mike growled, "and you wasn't too willin'!"

"What a jolly lot of filthy dingoes the Snail has in his gang, to be sure," the Duke said lazily, and looked at the ceiling.

Mike drew in his breath sharply and his right hand moved.

"I wouldn't if I were you," the Duke said sharply. "The Shrimp is watching you, and he never misses."

Mike started with fear, cursed, and let his hand fall limp.

The Duke turned and surveyed the whispering room.

"Listen, old folks," he said clearly, and at once there was silence. "Have you ever heard of filthy dingoes consorting with slimy snails? It is a fact. Rather! What! These two hefty, big so-called men of the Snail are dingoes. I have just offered to fight either one of them fair and square and all that sort of rot to amuse you all, and they have backed down. You see, old comrades, I wanted to try an experiment. I was wondering if it were possible to pummel their jolly old dials into some semblance of beauty— one could not make them any uglier."

The occupants of the room grinned, and, as all crooks are conceited, Mike and Johnno scowled at the table and worked their trigger-fingers convulsively on imaginary triggers.

The Duke slid from the table, stood off, and regarded the three men as though inspecting a curiosity.

"Do you know," he drawled distinctly, "I don't think the beggars like me. Ah, well, I was never one to stay where I was not wanted, so I will leave you, old bananas. Good-morning, pals. Some other time you may be in a more agreeable frame of mind."

He turned and lounged lazily across the room. At the door he turned.

"Tell the Snail," he said to the three men, "that I will see him within two hours."

Then he and the Shrimp had gone.

Chapter 9

In The Snail's Power

FLORENCE'S mind was in a ferment. Events had moved so swiftly in the last hour or so that she had lost a grip on her mental process. Now she retraced the events.  She had been sitting in the car talking to Mossy when suddenly a man appeared at its side and a gun was poked under Mossy's nose. Then a man rose from the other side, arm uplifted— she tried to scream, but only a choked murmur came as Mossy, in the act of raising his hands above his head, received a crashing blow on the skull with a revolver butt and fell forward across the back of the seat.

"Keep quiet, Miss," one of the men hissed, "or we'll treat you the same."

Four men climbed into the car, Mossy was bundled unceremoniously out on to the footpath and the car jumped forward. The girl sat dazed as it sped into the night. Dimly she realised that the Duke had been defeated, and she had been captured by some members of the army of the Snail.

The car did not travel far before it stopped with a jerk, and she was roughly pushed out of it. Then it was driven away, leaving her with two men who held her firmly— one at each side. She was urged forward, and found herself going through a low doorway. In silence she was led on— it seemed for hours— and to her it was a nightmare of continually descending steps and turning corners, traversing lighted and unlighted passages and walking through doors built into the earth— so many that her dazed mind became even more confused. At last they stopped.

"She goes in here," one of the men said. "Bung her in, lock the door, and you stand outside and remain there until relieved."

A door was opened, and she was propelled roughly into the darkness. The door slammed behind her and she heard a key grate in the lock. She stood still— numbed with fear. The room smelt stuffy, stale and unclean. She shuddered her brain into wakefulness and felt with trembling hand for the light switch.

The light brought very little cheer. The room was almost devoid of furniture. Against one wall was a stretcher-bed with a few blankets on it, and that was all. There was no window, but there was a hole about a foot square in one corner of the ceiling which evidently served as a means of ventilation. The walls were of beams and rough earth. Throwing her mind back over the many steps she had descended on her journey, Florence decided that she must be far below the earth's surface. She groaned in misery and sank down weakly on the bed-her mind in a ferment. She fought to gain possession of her full faculties to go over events calmly, but the more she thought of her position the more miserable she became. She was hidden somewhere in the bowels of the earth— in the power of what the Duke had called brutes. Memory of the Duke brought a ray of comfort for an instant. She had seen the Duke in action and had noticed his cleverness and supreme self-confidence. He and his gang would save her, she felt sure.

Ana men she remembered Razor. Evidently Razor had been captured, too. Would the Duke abandon her while he rescued his comrade? Perhaps the Duke and the Shrimp had also vanished when they entered those fateful flats. She almost felt that she would rather be rescued by the Duke than the police. Just as she had got over her first sensations of fear, and had been beginning rather to enjoy the novelty of being in the company of the Duke and his business-like men, she had been captured by the Snail. She felt instinctively that the Duke's men would not hurt her, but the Snail— he was a different type, and she shuddered as she thought of him. He and his men, as the Duke had said, were undoubtedly brutes.

She looked down at her fragile evening frock— it was somewhat soiled and crumpled. Woman-like she searched about for a mirror, but there was none in the room. She clicked her tongue with annoyance and made an attempt to straighten her hair which had been severely ruffled when the scarf had been thrown over her head. If she had but known it, its rumpled condition was very becoming, and caused little curls to stray upon her forehead and round her ears in a most attractive way. While she attempted to straighten her hair she listened for any sound without, but the silence was most heavy and complete.

She felt languid and weary, and decided to rest on the bed. She knew it must have been getting towards morning, and she had passed through by far the most trying experience of her sheltered life. She lay down full length
on the bed, and her youth immediately began to assert itself. She lay and thought, and found herself dozing off to sleep. She tried lazily to shake it off— and slept

VOICES awakened her. Someone was talking to the sentry outside. The words came quite plainly through the wooden door.

"Yes, we've got the sheilah," the guard said. "Where have you been, Johnno?"

"Up at the Madras— the. Duke was there."

Florence was wide awake at once.

"Seem troubled?" the guard said with a chuckle.

"He— er— he did seem a bit wild. Gave us a message to give to the Snail."

"Go on! hat was it?"

"Said to tell the Snail that he'd see him within two hours. I wish the swine could find his way down here— though he can't, of course. He wouldn't be game anyhow— he knows he'd never get out alive."

"Well, if he's coming he'd better come quick— here they are bringing the young bloke along to the Snail now."

Florence heard footsteps nearing her door, the footsteps of several men. They came on till they were outside.

"Hold on a minute, Curly," Johnno said. "Hello, Razor, what do you think of the Duke now, eh?"

"Think," the girl heard the now familiar voice say, "I think he is worth a million of your kind."

"No harm in thinking— better do a lot of it— you won't have much more time."

"I'm not worrying," Razor replied. "The Duke will take a dozen of you in payment for my death. The Snail will never beat the Duke."

"It looks damn like, as if he's done it, don't it? Anyhow, take this along with you for being cheeky." The girl heard the sickening impact of a blow as Johnno hit the helpless man. Razor made no sound.

"Good-bye, Razor," Johnno went on. "I don't suppose I'll see you again."

The footsteps proceeded onwards and faded away into silence.

The girl stared wide-eyed at the. door for a moment, then turned her tear-stained face to the blankets and sobbed.

It could not have been more than five minutes, when a sound made her raise her head with a jerk.

A key was turning in the lock.

The girl sat up and stared at the opening door. Johnno appeared in the doorway and leered at her.

"Come out," he said. "The Snail wants to see you."

She stood up, trembling from head to foot.

"The little dear has been crying, I do believe," Johnno went on. "Think I'll have to kiss the little teardrops away."

"Cut that business out, Johnno," Mike broke in from behind him. "The Snail is waiting and he gets nasty when he's kept waiting. Come on, Miss. I don't want to use force."

The girl choked back her sobs and staggered forward. Each man grasped one of her arms and they led her stumbling feet quickly down the passage, round a corner, and along a passage to another door. This was opened from within and she was led inside.

It was a far larger room than the one she had left and it had another door leading from it at the opposite end to which she had entered. Ventilation was provided by two holes in the ceiling. The first thing the girl beheld was the Snail seated behind a table near the other door. The room was almost lavishly furnished, it had a board floor, and was carpeted, contained numerous chairs, a lounge, an ornate single bed, and a sideboard. The girl was dimly conscious of other articles. As she gazed round she saw something else-something that brought a sigh of relief to her lips. Against one wall Razor was strapped to a chair— a captive, but still alive. His eyes were acutely miserable as they rested on her, and there was a smear of blood on his lips.

The Snail was smiling— if it could be truly called a smile.

"I'm afraid your friend the Duke has failed you, Miss Montagu," he said dryly. "He sent word to say that he would see me within two hours— that was at a quarter to two, and it is half-past three now. I hardly expected him to keep the appointment— even such a wonderful personage as himself would never find this place, though I would not mind if he did, for not even his body would ever get out again."

"What do you want with me?" The girl choked out the words.

"Only a small matter," the Snail said cheerfully. "Won't take you long. I just want you to write a little note to your father. I will dictate it and see that it is delivered."

The girl threw back her head defiantly. "I refuse," she said.

"Aha!" the Snail said. "So she is showing fight, eh? Oh, well, perhaps when you see the way you are to die you will change your mind."

"How will I see?" she asked fearfully.

"We will try it out on our young friend Razor first," the Snail said, "so as to give you an example. Lock that door, Mike— I do not wish to be disturbed "

Mike and Johnno were the only other two occupants of the room, and as Mike locked the door by which she had entered Johnno stepped forward eagerly.

"Can I begin?" he asked.

"In a moment," the Snail replied. "Just see that your razor is sharp. 1 want you to take off his left ear first."

The girl placed her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream, and Razor looked at the Snail with murderous hate in his eyes.

"Don't you look, Miss Montagu," Razor said between his teeth.

The Snail chuckled. "Take hold of her, Mike," he said, "and hold her eyes open if need be. Make sure she sees."

Johnno laughed and fingered his razor lovingly.

"You are up to your same old tricks," Razor spat at the Snail. "You are a fiend, Roy Acton!"

The Snail raised his eyebrows.

"So our young friend knows my name," he said. "You can begin."

Johnno stepped forward.

"Wait!" the girl cried, struggling in the iron grip of Mike. "I will write the letter— I will write anything."

"You will write it in any case," the Snail said. "Razor has to die, and this is to show you how you will die if you don't write the note or your father does not pay up. Now just watch carefully and don't miss any fun. Johnno is a skilled worker, and you will see Razor drop slowly to little pieces under Johnno's careful fingers."

Johnno took a firm hold on Razor's left ear and grinned fiendishly.

"Make sure she's looking, Mike," he said. "I'll do it slowly."

The young man looked at the girl. There was a tear drop on his cheek, but his eyes were hard and his lips were firm.

Johnno rested the razor edge on the young man's ear.

"You won't be able to hear much longer," he hissed, "so listen while you can. I'll be doing this some day to the Duke."

"And I jolly well don't think you will," came across the room in the Duke's well-known drawl.

Chapter 10

A Handy Blade

THE Snail and his two men had been too intent on the contemplated butchery to notice the door near the Snail open, but at the familiar voice they swung towards it as one man and gazed into two shining pistol-barrels held before the Shrimp's gleaming eyes. The Duke pressed an automatic to the Snail's bull-like neck.

"Don't move, any of you," the Duke drawled, "or something is sure to go off. Johnno, I know a better use for that pretty little blade of yours, though it might dull the edge a bit. Just hack through those deuced straps holding Razor, will you, old onion, and hurry up about it. I'm just dying for a chance to kill you. If you so much as cut Razor's clothes I will do it. Everyone else remain perfectly still."

Johnno awoke from his trance, and made haste carefully to obey the Duke's order, though he bit savagely at his lip while he worked.

The girl's face had undergone a change. The horror which had transfixed it had melted to a smile of sheer joy. Then she dropped from Mike's nerveless arms and sank to the floor in a dead faint.

"Best thing she could have done," the Duke remarked. "She's a sensible girl. I didn't want her getting in our dangerous line of fire, and it will be some relief to her. Just move sufficiently, Mike, to take your filthy presence from her immediate vicinity, will you, old tomato. You smell like a mildewed gluepot gone wrong. That's better."

The last strap dropped from Razor's limbs and he rose and stretched thankfully.

"I was beginning to think that you would never come, Duke," he said.

"Always rely on me, old boy," the Duke said. "I always keep my appointments. Just relieve these gentlemen of their artillery, will you?"

Razor turned swiftly and took the razor from Johnno's hand.

"Johnno," he laughed, "you look as though you had seen, a ghost. Which ear will I take off first?

"Now, that's a jolly good idea— we'll give Johnno some of his own medicine," the Duke drawled, "or should I say surgery? First take their howitzers."

Razor ran his hands swiftly over Johnno's clothes and pocketed the revolver he found. Then he repeated the procedure with Mike. On the Snail he found two guns.

"Ah!" said the Duke, "so the sticky old Snail knows good advice when he hears it, and has already taken my words of wisdom as pearls."

The Duke stepped round the table and stood squarely before the Snail. He glanced at his wristwatch with an elegant gesture.

"I was right on time, old bean," he said, "though I was very nearly late as I got lost in your bally old rabbit burrows. You should have more sign posts— you really should. I must complain to the council."

"How the devil did you get here?" he asked hoarsely.

"Oh, just came, old fruit, yes, just came. Rather uncanny, what?"

The Snail shook his head like a great dog.

"You'll need to be to get out."

The Duke leaned across the table.

"Vermin," he said, "if it wasn't for the girl I'd finish this for good and all now. I'd throw you each a gun, shoot out the light and fight it out to the death. But she's got to be carried clear of this rat hole. I hope— for your own sakes— you haven't harmed her."

Razor was bending over the girl.

"She's all right, Duke," he said. "She's only fainted."

A knock sounded on the outer door. The Duke pushed his gun within an inch of the Snail's nose.

"Tell them to go away," he whispered. The Snail looked at the gun and drew his breath.

"Who's there?" he called.

"It's me— Ratty," came the answer. "Kleve says that one of the Duke's men was seen near here tonight."

"All right," the Snail said. "I'm busy now, and don't want to be disturbed. See me―"

The Duke's gun was jammed on the Snail's forehead.

"I'll send for you when I want you," the Snail continued with a gulp.

"All right," said Ratty and was heard retreating.

"Well done, Snail," the Duke said softly. "I'm pleased to see that you reconsidered your decision to say 'See me later.' You just wanted to keep bringing him back till he smelt a rat or received no answer. Quite clever of you."

"Swine," said the disgruntled Snail.

"Good egg," commented the Duke, complacently. "Don't thank me, old banana. Now we must consider leaving."

"You'll never get out," the Snail said.

"Well, I like that," the Duke said. "We got in, didn't we, and where we got in we can get out again."

"You will have Razor and the girl with you this time."

"True. Really remarkably true. But then, we are exceptional fellows. Now I must apologise as I am going to put you and Johnno to the indignity of being bound and gagged."

"And what about Mike?" asked the Snail, looking at Mike suspiciously.

"Oh, all in good time, old chappie," the Duke replied. "He will be trussed up like a jolly old fowl, too, but first we have this ear business to attend to, and we want— Mike to perform the dirty work. I've never seen a snail with ears, anyhow."

The Snail straightened in his chair.

"You're not going to do that?" he gasped.

The Duke smiled cryptically and turned towards Johnno.

"Come here, and allow me to rip up your coat and shirt. I want them for bonds. That razor of yours is jolly handy."

Fifteen minutes later Razor carried the girl through the back doorway of the room. The Shrimp followed him and the Duke paused to look back and wave a farewell to the silent occupants of the room-silent because they had to be. Then he closed and locked the door.

"Shrimp," he said, "We have our job before us."

And when, some minutes later, in answer to a frenzied tattoo that Mike beat on the floor with his bound heels, Ratty and his pals were made to understand that something was wrong and smashed their way through the locked door, they found a peculiar trio, two of whom were minus their left ears.

Chapter 11

The Siege

THE SHRIMP led them across a small room— evidently a dressing room and storeroom— to a wardrobe on the other side. The wardrobe door was open and behind the clothes hanging in it Razor noticed a dark cavity.

"Step through there," said the Shrimp. "Keep going straight on and be as quiet as you can. If the girl shows signs of waking stop at once."

Razor nodded, then squeezed through the wardrobe and the secret door behind, the Shrimp and the Duke following, while the Duke pulled the wardrobe door shut behind him, plunging them into complete darkness.

"I shall lead," the Duke whispered, and pushed along the narrow passage past Razor and his burden.

"Pass me the girl when you get tired," the Shrimp whispered to the young man, and then they went on in silence.

For the most part their journey was in the dark though once they flitted across a lighted passage like wisps of smoke before a breeze— then on again.

The Duke stopped.

"We are at the foot of a ladder," he whispered. "It is about thirty feet long, and is absolutely perpendicular. We must devise a means to carry the girl."

"Tie her to my back," the Shrimp said. "I will grasp both her wrists with one hand and can climb easily with the other."

"Right!" replied the Duke. "Give me a handkerchief each, please."

They handed him the required pieces of linen. With two of his own the Duke carefully and firmly tied Florence's unconscious figure to the Shrimp's broad back. The Shrimp drew her arms across his shoulders and grasped both her wrists with one monstrous paw. Then without more ado the Shrimp commenced to climb the ladder, which creaked a little as the other two also put their weights upon it. But it was firmly fastened to the wall of the pit and held.

To Razor— stiff from his bonds, and tired through carrying the girl— the climb seemed endless. He was wearily placing his hand up to another rung when he almost fell from the ladder with surprise.

A light was shining down on them!

Looking up past the figures above him, Razor noticed that the light came from an electric globe fixed in the roof high above the shaft opening. It had just been switched on.

The three men remained perfectly still-their bodies pressed close to the ladder.

For a few seconds all was silent, and then the Shrimp made a move. He was almost at the top of the ladder, and he cautiously ascended the remaining steps till he was level with the shaft opening. He looked carefully right and left down the passage which stretched before him. There was no one in sight, and opposite him was an opening— either the entrance to a room or a passage. The Shrimp believed in the old maxim. "He who hesitates is lost,'' and without waiting a second, he took a firmer grip on the girl's wrists and hauled himself up into the passage. A second later and he was within the entrance opposite. By the time he had discovered that he was evidently in a room, the Duke and Razor had joined him.

They were just in time, for before they could speak footsteps were heard approaching down the passage, accompanied by the voices of several men.

The trio backed unto the darkness and waited.

"They would have to come this way," they heard a voice say, which they recognised as belonging to Ratty.

"Not necessarily,'' Mike's voice chipped in, "they could have turned off at the first passage they crossed."

"Likely, ain't it?" said Ratty. "Perhaps," he lowered his voice to an awestruck whisper, "perhaps they just kind of vanished like. The Duke's a funny "bloke an'―"

"Don't be silly," said Mike. "There wasn't nothing funny about him when he made me cut— do that to 'em. Ugh!"

"Where's the Snail and Johnno now?" Ratty asked.

"They are takin' 'em up the main shaft to the hospital."

The men had paused and were standing round the pit opening.

"This is a queer joint, Ratty," one of the men said, "I don't feel like going into that hole to meet one of the Duke's bullets. How did the Snail get this joint? Didn't build it himself, did he?"

"Don't be mad," said Ratty. "It used to be an old mine of some sort nearly a hundred years ago. It got filled in and built on, but somehow the Snail found out about it— got into it— and the gang tapped the electric mains and built it into what it is."

"It's the best hide-out I've ever heard of," the man exclaimed.

"Best in the world," said Mike. "But you better keep quiet about it or the Snail will cut you to pieces."

The men in the nearby room stood intent and still.

"What'll we do, Mike?" Ratty asked. "We can't wait here till night."

"No, that's a fact," Mike replied. "Some of us'll have to go looking to see if we can meet 'em, and if we can't— well, we'll have to look somewhere else, that's all."

"I ain't going down," said one man, "if fifty Dukes get away."

"Oh, you ain't, ain't yer?" said Mike. "And let me tell you that it'd be much better for you to meet the Duke than not meet him and have to tell the Snail we lost him."

"Well you can count me out, for―" He was stopped by a startling interruption.

Across the passage from the room nearby came the shuddering cry of a girl.

Florence, still tied to the Shrimp's back, had awakened from her swoon, and the cry had been her unconscious expression of that fact.

The five men near the pit head swung on their heels, hands groping speedily for their pockets.

"Don't make another move-any of you," came in the Duke's crisp tones from the darkness of the doorway.

The five men hesitated, poised and alert. They could hear the Duke speaking to someone in the room in low tones, but could not distinguish what he said.

"Listen, Razor," the Duke was saying, "undo the girl from the Shrimp's shoulders lively and take care of her. We'll do any shooting necessary."

Razor hastened to obey and carried the squirming girl farther back into the room.

Mike cleared his throat.

"Perhaps, Duke," he began tentatively, "you wouldn't care for that fist fight now?"

"One never knows, Mike," the Duke replied. "Remember, in any case that your friends would be covered by the Shrimp's guns and they never fail to kill."

Mike gulped and relapsed into silence.

The five men crowded together and gazed round them and at Mike for a means of escape from the sharp eyes which they knew were watching them from the darkness. The girl had been heard murmuring but now she was quiet.

The position was something of a deadlock. The Duke was searching for a plan when another startling interruption occurred.

A man came softly round the end of the passage, walking quickly. His eyes fell on the five tense figures at the pit-head and he paused irresolutely. Rowley was a little more sharp in the wits than the majority of his pals and he gazed sharply at the attitudes of the men-then at the doorway which they faced. From the corner of his eye Mike saw him draw himself up as though he understood.

Rowley tiptoed back the way he had come.

A second passed. Then— the light went out.

At once there were two vicious stabs of flame from the darkened room and two of the five cursed and clutched at their comrades.  The latter, however, had no wish for their more unfortunate friends' company, and they threw them off and fled in a panic— they wanted to be anywhere but in a line with that door.

"Now," said the Duke softly to the Shrimp. "There's going to be some fun."

A shot from the darkness outside was his only answer, and a bullet ricocheted from the earthen wall. Almost immediately the Shrimp fired at the flash and a half-shriek, half-moan told him his aim was as true as ever.

After that none of the Snail's men felt in any hurry to fire in the direction of where they imagined the door to be. The darkness was most intense, so intense that the Duke placed one leg across the doorway, as it was impossible to see an inch before one's face, and would have been an easy matter for any or all of the Snail's men to have entered the room unseen if they did it silently.

Once, something touched the Duke's foot, and he fired immediately, evidently missing, for he was rewarded by nothing more than the sound of someone scuttling away from the doorway. The attempt was not repeated, however.

Then began a waiting game. The Duke knew that both ends of the passage would be lined with figures closely packed, and to prove the supposition he poked his gun round the corner of the door and fired straight up the passage. A yelp of pain was his answer, and immediately the light was switched on, then off again. The Duke shuddered to think what would have happened had he been venturing along the passage when that light went on. He would have been riddled with bullets. The only escape seemed to be opposite-the pit they had ascended, but it was equally certain that a small army of men would be waiting at the bottom for their reception. In fact, the Duke's anticipated shots at the room from that direction if any of the Snail's men had the hardihood to try the experiment. It certainly commanded an excellent shot into the room via the doorway-though the Duke had already made certain no one was in the line of fire-he being the only one in any way exposed, and then only a trifle.

So the waiting game continued. It was a tight corner. The Snail's men had every advantage, as they were in the position that they could starve their opponents out. They also had the Duke's party hemmed in in such a manner that they could expect no help from outside, and had no chance of breaking through the cordon themselves. Mike, who was leading the besiegers in the absence of the Snail and Johnno, had little fear that the Duke would attempt to break through, having, as they did; the girl with them. Without her to protect Mike would not have been so sanguine.

Twenty minutes passed, and then Mike decided to parley. He first made sure that he was well out of any chance of being shot from the room, and then spoke.

"Duke," he called. "What about it?" The Duke evidently scorned to answer, as he did not reply.

"We've got you certain this time, Duke," Mike called. "You can't get away— we'll starve you out— so you might as well come out now and save yourself the pangs of hunger."

No reply came to Mike's plea.

"I'll make him speak," Mike snarled, and then, in a louder voice: "Come out, you cowardly sissy— you mamma's boy, you dingo, you yellow-livered skunk."

But when the echoes died away absolute silence reigned again. Mike stroked his chin and wondered. He knew the Duke well enough to expect some reply to his last sally— even if it were only a shot. Mike became a little panic-stricken.

"Switch on the light," he called. The light came on.

"Duke," Mike called. "This is a truce. I want to bargain with you. Don't shoot!"

Rather fearfully Mike advanced down the passage waving a once-white handkerchief as he came, and keeping his right hand close to his pocket.

No sound or flash from the room answered him, so he came on more bravely. He reached the door, and after some hesitation peeped in. All was dark and silent within. Mike slid his hand along the inside of the door-frame, found the switch and turned it down. Then he gasped. The room was empty!

Chapter 12

The Switch Of Death

FIFTEEN minutes before Mike made his astounding discovery, and just as the Duke was trying to decide on what move to make, he heard Razor whispering softly.

"Duke, this room is only a sort of anteroom— it has an outlet. There is a low door on the other side. I have been through, and found that it leads to a passage."

"Good," whispered the Duke. "Tell the Shrimp; also tell him to lead you and the girl through it. I will stay here a few minutes, and if you do not return I will follow you. Wait for me at the first turning. Tell the Shrimp if he has any thought of remaining with me to remember the last time."

"Right!" whispered Razor, and there was silence once more-silence deep and complete.

The Duke waited with a foot across the door for some minutes. Then he carefully moved along the wall— feeling for the exit. He found it on the opposite side from the door he had entered, bent his tall frame, and stepped through. For a while he went slowly and carefully, but when he thought he was far enough away from the room for small sounds to be unheard, he went faster, with head bent to avoid the low roof. It was some time, before he heard a whisper before him.

"That you, Duke?"

"Yes, Shrimp. What's doing?"

"There's a crossing here," the Shrimp replied. "Which way do you think we ought to go?"

"I imagine that the main shaft is left of us now," the Duke said. "Where is Miss Montagu?"

"I am here," came in a frightened whisper.

"You do not wish to fall into the hands of those men again?"

"No-no-no!"

"Well, you must follow my directions implicitly, and be very quiet. Please do not faint again."

"I am sorry."

"That is all right. You are only a girl, and I'm afraid you are not having too enjoyable a time. You will understand that, even if I wished to return you to. your father, it would be unsafe to do so now, as the Snail would only get you again."

"Yes, Yes. I am content to stay with you; If only we could get out of this."

"We will do that, never fear. Just trust in me, and do as I say. Now lead on, Shrimp. You follow, Razor, then Miss Montagu and myself in the rear. Keep in single file."

"Can't I have someone to hold on to?" asked Florence. "It is so dark "

"Please do as I say, and be brave."

"Yes," muttered the girl.

They moved forward down a narrow passage as quietly as possible, passed two crossings, and soon saw a light shining in at the end of the passage. The Duke whispered, "Stop!"

At once the small procession halted. The Duke addressed them.

"Ahead I believe is a sort of guard room," he whispered, "a room through which Shrimp and I had to come on our way down, and which gave us some trouble waiting for the opportunity. There was only one man in it then, and he was drunk; but now I hope there will be several. I want Razor and Miss Montagu to wait here while Shrimp and I go forward to take as many prisoners as we can. Understand?"

The others assented, though none of them really did understand why he wanted to take prisoners.

The Duke and the Shrimp crept towards the light. As they neared it they heard voices, and paused to listen.

"We've got to keep a strict watch," said a voice, "because they reckon the Duke and the Shrimp are down here loose somewhere. Anyhow, they must come through here to get out, and they would be pretty decent to get past the four of us."

"Well, I jolly well don't think we want to, old party," the Duke drawled as he and the Shrimp stepped into the doorway with levelled guns.

One man was foolish. His revolver was already in his hand. He raised it quickly-and shrieked as the Shrimp's bullet smashed the bone in his upper arm. The others sat still.

"Think we ought to shoot them all, old pal?" the Duke drawled.

"We ain't done you no 'arm, Duke," one of the men said.

"And I hope, for your own sakes you will not try to," the Duke drawled. "Just throw your little spitfires in the centre of the room, will you?"

The men obeyed with alacrity. Then the Duke stepped forward, collected the guns, and ran his hands over the men's clothes. He went to the door.

"Come in now, Razor and Miss Montagu."

Razor and the girl hurried into the room.

"I think I heard sounds in the passage," Razor said, "as though they were following fast."

"Don't worry about them," said the Duke. "There is a guard on the top, main entrance, too. The shot will wake them up, and they'll all be here with us in a moment."

How prophetic the Duke's words were was shown a few seconds later, when shouts and running feet were heard from both the inlet and the outlet passages of the guard-room.

Razor gently propelled the girl to one of the side-walls of the room, and placed himself before her-one of the Snail's automatics in hand. The Duke and the Shrimp stayed in the centre of the room— the Duke with one foot on a chair and his elbow resting on his knee, in such a position as to command a view of the two doors and the prisoners. The Shrimp faced the doors squarely, armed hands resting on his hips. There were no doors on the openings into the room, and from the one leading to liberty a man suddenly ran into the room. One of the Shrimp's guns spurted, and when the deafening echoes ceased the man was clawing frantically at the floor— shot neatly through the right shoulder.

A scramble outside the door showed that the second man had suddenly decided that it would be better if he did not enter, and a slowing of footsteps from the other side passage indicated that the men there had come to a similar conclusion.

"If anyone pokes his head round either of those doorways," the Duke said loudly, "he will be shot immediately. Now, listen to what I am going to say."

He paused, and now all the footsteps had ceased. Except for the movements of the wounded man on the floor and the mutterings of the man who had been shot in the arm, all was quiet.

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," the Duke said. "I want you to hear every word I say. First, I might mention that I'm going to walk out of here without a scratch. There are two reasons why you will let me. All round the top of this mine are spread about five hundred pounds of gelignite, ready to be exploded at the touch of a switch. If the gelignite explodes the mine will fall in and be closed for months at least. It is a certainty that no one will escape alive-you and I will all be entombed. Peter is standing by the switch, and has instructions to push it over at a specified time, which is— just let me see— five minutes from now!"

There was a murmuring from the passages as the Duke paused. The prisoners looked at each other fearfully. Razor looked at the Duke sharply, and the girl choked off a scream.

"You can imagine how it would be," the Duke proceeded. "I could kill you all at one blow, and no one would know how it happened, or where you were. Buried under the debris of the houses wrecked by the explosion, they might never even search for you."

"It's a bluff," came Mike's voice.

"Is it?" said the Duke calmly. "Well, we can easily prove it— we will wait, and in less than five minutes we will know."

"Shut up, Mike," cried one of the prisoners. "We believe you, Duke. Hurry up and say what you are going to do."

The Duke smiled as he heard stumbling footsteps from the inlet passage. Evidently the outer guard had decided to wait no longer.

"Well," he said. "I naturally want to reach Peter before he blocks the mine, or I will be trapped with you, and I have a peculiar aversion to that. But, just to make certain, I am taking another precaution. My party is going to march straight from here in Indian file, with two of your men before us and another one behind. If you fire at us you must hit your own men first."

"Where is Peter?'' asked Mike.

"In a house nearby," the Duke replied. "I'll have to hurry to reach him."

"Well, hurry, then, for heaven's sake." Mike yelled.

"Wouldn't you care for that little fist fight first?" the Duke drawled.

"No, blast you. Hurry, or we'll all be killed."

"I wouldn't mind that so much," the Duke drawled, "except that I am a bit fastidious of the company in which I die. Step forward, you two."

He nodded to two of the prisoners, who almost fell over in their eagerness to obey.

"Shrimp," the Duke said, "you get behind them, and kill anyone who tries any comic acts. You go next, Miss Montagu, then you, Razor, then myself, and lastly you, my friend."

He nodded to the other prisoner as he took up his position, with his back facing Razor.

"I am going to walk backwards," he said, "so guide me with one hand, Razor. You, also, friend prisoner, will walk backwards. March!"

The procession began at a march so quick that it was almost a run; the Duke and the last man found it an effort to keep pace while walking backwards over the rough ground. They met nobody— the whole place seemed deserted, and every door they came to had been left wide open in the panic of the outer guards, who feared being burled alive.

The procession came to a steep stairway, which Florence remembered descending on her journey in, and up this the file climbed— the Duke turning his back on the last man while he did so; but the man had no other thought than to gain the open air.

Through a trapdoor, across two rooms, and the party reached a low doorway.

Following at a scramble about twenty paces behind the Duke's little crowd were Mike and his friends— also eager to gain the open air, but not drawing too near their enemies, in case a bullet prevented them from escaping.

Then the leading party made a startling discovery.

The last man of the outer guard had locked the strong low door behind him— imprisoning foes and friends alike!

Chapter 13

Methods

"MY LORD!" the first man said with bated breath. "We are locked in!"

"Quick," came the Duke's voice. "The time is almost up. Is there no other way out?"

"Not a way," groaned Mike's voice from the doorway of the room they had just left. "All the windows are barred."

"Well, the house will be down about our ears in a moment," the Duke said. "Get through that door."

At once the two men and the Shrimp assailed the door.

"Let me at it," came the voice of the last from the background. "Don't shoot, Duke. We are all in this together, and I can save you as well as the rest of us. I've got my tools. How long have I got?"

"About one minute," said the Duke, consulting his wrist-watch as Lash quickly crossed the room, unstrapping a kit of tools from his waist. "Any more men below, Mike?"

"Lots of 'em," groaned Mike. "Shake it up, Lash."

Lash was working with a saw— working like lightning, yet without a miss-cut or a fumble. Lash was used to working against time. It seemed only a few seconds before he grasped the
handle of the door, heaved his great shoulders, and threw the portal wide. There was a rush to escape.

"Follow me," the Duke cried to his party. "Mind the girl, Razor."

They were in the open air, and men were running in all directions. The Duke turned and sped up the street with Razor-half dragging the girl-on his heels, and the Shrimp behind with a gun in each hand and his wary eyes darting in all directions. But the Shrimp need not have worried, for the Snail's men were too panic-stricken or excited at their escape, and too wrapped up in the thought of saving their own miserable lives to give the Duke a thought.

The Duke reached the corner and kept on going across the road to where a car was standing with a man at the wheel, who started the engine as he saw them coming. The Duke helped the breathless girl and Razor into the car, then climbed in himself. The Shrimp jumped on to the footboard as the car commenced to move. Men could still be seen running in all directions in the half-light of coming dawn.

"Drive like murder to Number One, Peter," the Duke cried.

"Peter!" gasped Razor. "But you said Peter was sitting by a switch "

The Duke laughed. "The only switch that Peter was near was the switch on this car. That was a little fiction of my own."

Razor looked at two men flying for their lives (as they thought) along the street, and laughed with glee. The Shrimp, who was climbing in beside the driver, turned with a grin.

"I suspected that, Duke," he said, "for that was the longest five minutes I ever knew."

"It was exactly fifteen," the Duke said with a chuckle. "Besides, Shrimp, you knew where Peter was."

"Yes," said the Shrimp. "I thought I did, but one can never be sure what you are up to, Duke."

"You are safe now-for a time, at any rate," the Duke said to Florence.

"Yes, thank goodness," the girl said fervently. "Thanks to you. You are wonderful."

"He certainly is," chimed in Razor. "How on earth did you manage to turn up where and when you did?"

"Partly luck-partly good judgment," the Duke said. "You see, I have a way— or, rather, two ways— of learning the Snail's plans. One of them is very simple, but very useful. Some time ago— weeks before I entered this pirating game, the Shrimp and I broke into the Snail's house during his absence, and rather cleverly hollowed out the leg of a table in a room, where he elaborates most of his plans. In the hollow we secreted a small, but powerful, microphone. This we carefully camouflaged, ran the wires through the floor, and by divers ways to a house next-door, which I rent. The table is immense and heavy, and is screwed down, which helped us a lot. Now, I always have a man posted at the receiver of that phone, and everything said in that room he hears. That job took the Shrimp and I hours, but every minute of our labour has proved to be well repaid. By it we have. got on to the Snail's plans as soon as he makes them. Peter was on duty at the phone to-night or this morning. When he came off duty he informed the Shrimp and I that the Snail had told Kleve he had taken you and Miss Montagu to some underground stronghold. All we had to do was find the place and rescue you."

"Sounds easy, put that way," Razor said. "How did you do it?"

"Well, the Snail had told Kleve he was going straight down, also to find out where I was and report to him. I guessed Kleve would go to the Madras, so the Shrimp and I waited near there after receiving peter's message. Of course, Peter woke up Irish, who shares shifts with him, and sent him with the message. You see, Peter had his work to do. It is the duty of whomsoever is at the 'phone to shadow the Snail whenever he goes out— he is not wanted at the 'phone then, of course.

"When Kleve entered the Madras we followed him in. He saw us and left the Shrimp followed. Naturally Kleve led him to the underground stronghold, where the Shrimp met Peter, who had followed the Snail. Thus we were led there by two of them.

"By the time the Shrimp had returned for me and we had got a car, Kleve had left again— but he had not gone far; Peter dropped him with a sandbag at the corner of the street.

"When I arrived we pulled Kleve into the car and revived him. I then asked him a few questions, and he told mo exactly, where to find the Snail, also the best way to get there."

"He told you?" gasped Razor.

"Well, I kind of gently persuaded him," the Duke drawled. "Kleve is a good-looking, conceited chap, and he has a marked aversion to having his face scarred with burns. So, then, Shrimp and I overpowered a doorkeeper, dumped him in a nearby lane with Kleve, and very slowly, carefully, and cautiously made our way to the Snail's little butcher shop. We took our time, too, and it seems we could have been a little sooner."

"You were soon enough," Razor said thankfully.

"To save your ears, yes," the Duke drawled. "But not to save your feelings, eh, Miss Montagu?"

He received no answer. The girl's head was resting on Razor's shoulder. Miss Montagu was sound asleep.

Chapter 14

Her Promise

THE DUKE looked at the girl with amusement.

"There," he remarked, "is a compliment to my rhetoric if you like. It certainly had some effect, anyway, which is a consolation. Unfortunately, she will now have to be awakened, as we are almost to Number One."

The house which the Duke designated by the title, "Depot Number One," was a substantial bungalow in the suburbs, which seemed to beam "respectability." It was, in reality, the Duke's private home, and, as such, its site was always a carefully guarded secret. It was absolutely imperative to the well-being of the Duke that the Snail would never even suspect its existence. It had all the appurtenances of a respectable suburbia— a front flower garden, tidy backyard, gravel path, garage entrance, etc.

Up the gravelled path the newly-awakened girl found herself hurried; the Duke opened the door with a latchkey, and she was ushered inside.

She was a little surprised at the comfort of the place— nothing excessively expensive or luxurious— but everything in perfect taste, and nothing cheap. She had expected at least untidiness, as she had learned enough of her captors to guess that they would not have a woman within their activities, and when a man kept house, even her limited experience in such worldly matters told her the inevitable outcome. Yet the house, which was to be her prison, was tidy and clean. Florence smiled, and could not resist a question.

"Why, who keeps this— who keeps house here?"

The Duke closed the front door before answering, as Peter drove the car away with Razor inside.

"My housekeeper," he said dryly, "is standing behind you."

She turned and inspected the grinning, comical face of the Shrimp, who was stroking his moustache modestly.

"There's never anybody to untidy it," he said. "Only the Duke and I— and we're not here often."

"Then why," asked Florence, with a woman's sense of perspicacity, "does the dust not accumulate?

"The truth is, Miss Montagu," the Duke remarked, "that the Shrimp cannot keep still— he must always be doing something, and if he has not anything else to do he just trots along here and tidies up."

"It seems," Florence said, as she followed the Duke into the drawing-room and sat down, "that all your men are wonderful, Duke."

"They are," said the Duke, "all except the Duke. Especially Razor."

"Well," the girl mused. "I don't see anything particularly wonderful about Razor, unless it be his loyalty to you―"

"And his good looks."

"Good looks are not everything," the girl replied. "Take the Shrimp— he is wonderful, and yet not handsome, though he has a quaint, likeable face. Where did he go when we came in here?"

"Listen, and receive your answer," the Duke said.

She did as requested, and to her ears caught the sound of dishes, and to her nostrils the appetising smell of frying bacon.

She smiled happily.

"All this is rather wonderful," she said. "Like the picnics I used to enjoy so much when I was young."

"You are still very young," the Duke replied. "Otherwise you would never react so favourably and quickly to what you have passed through in the last few hours. Perhaps, too, you do not realise that you are still a prisoner."

The girl's smile faded.

"Oh, yes," she said. "And daddy will be worrying."

"And then there is that million pounds." the Duke said dryly.

"That doesn't worry me," the girl said. "It is daddy."

"I can put your mind at rest on that point," the Duke said. "I have sent word to him that you are in good hands and quite safe."

"When was that?"

"Before I rescued you from the Snail."

"You were very sure of yourself."

"Well, no, I wasn't. But, in any case, I thought it only fair somewhat to allay his worries."

"Duke," the girl said, looking at him with admiration, "I did not think you were quite human, but you are."

"And, Miss Montagu," he replied, "I could echo those words— you are becoming more human every moment."

"Am I? I thank you for your thoughtfulness in sending that message. Was I not human before?"

"Not so very. You were rather like a pretty picture— a doll. A likeable ornament, but useless."

"Oh!" Florence looked offended. "Am I any more useful now?"

The Duke chuckled.

"You are useful as a cheque for a million pounds," he said. "But as to further use, well, you will learn."

"Thank you!" Florence said coldly.

"In this house," the Duke went on, stretching his long legs and staring up at the ceiling, "you are quite free to do as you wish— with limits. Perhaps you can make yourself useful here. On each side are the cottages of respectable, law-abiding people, and if you care to draw their attention, and tell them who you are you might get free. Again, there are other ways of escaping. There are no barred windows-no locked doors. You can easily escape-day or night. I have not the men or time to guard you properly. But— and here's, the rub— here you are safe. Escape, and within two days you would be in the hands of the Snail again."

"I could be sent away— protected by police— hidden."

"Perhaps so— perhaps. You have met the Snail— have seen some of his methods and the size of his gang. Remember that he kidnapped you in your own home— thronged with people. If you care to take the risk do so; but I warn you that I have injured— I mean, hurt— the Snail so much that the next time he gets you he will make you suffer, as by so doing he will think he will make me suffer. Any excuse is excuse enough for a vindictive brute like the Snail to inflict pain on some unfortunate in his grasp. He might even cut you to pieces. He is mad now."

"Does not his rage frighten you?"

"That is how I want him," the Duke said with a gleeful smile. "When they are mad they make mad moves. Now, I am going to ask you something-I am going to put you on a parole, and I want your promise that you will not attempt to escape."

The girl looked at him. He was still gazing dreamily at the ceiling-seemingly indifferent to her reply. It was then that .she realised that, instead of being the central figure in the drama, she had imagined herself to be, she was,
in reality, only a supernumerary— a pawn in a game which was far greater than it seemed— a game which would have gone on, even if the Snail had never decided to kidnap her. And here, lounging lazily in his chair, was the hub of the whole machine. His was the master-mind (she considered him far in advance of the Snail, because, for one thing, he had had a better education as a foundation for the cleverness he undoubtedly possessed); he it was who held the strings.

She thought, watching him, that his face would. be strong and handsome if shorn of its ridiculous moustache and what seemed its habitual, lazy, asinine expression. He was certainly an enigma. Why was a man of his ability a crook? Why was he waging war on the Snail? What was the reason for his ridiculous pose? Who were those other men he had gathered round him? There was no doubt he was a remarkable man— and a likeable one.

She became conscious that she was staring at him, and turning her eyes away. They fell on a large painting on the wall— a finely executed portrait of a regal-looking, middle-aged woman. She rose to inspect it.

It was an original, and was unsigned.

"What do you think of her," the Duke said softly. "That is a portrait of my mother."

"She is certainly a fine-looking lady," the girl said. "But to be sincere I was more interested in the work than the subject. I daub a little myself, and am interested in art. I see this is unsigned, and I do not recognise the style."

"I should not wonder," the Duke replied. "I am only a poor amateur."

"You!" the girl cried aghast. "Did you paint that?"

"I have to confess to the deed."

"Good heavens!" Florence said. "And you prefer to be a crook."

He smiled.

"I have a reason," he said. "Perhaps, some day, I will tell you what it is. But now, will you give me your promise not to escape?"

She nodded. "I promise," she said. Shrimp appeared at the door.

"Breakfast is ready," he said.

Chapter 15

The Audacity Of The Snail

THE EMPORIUM of Trent and Co. was one of the finest of its kind that graced the city. Its ornate windows-faced three streets, and it rose in its marble beauty eight floors above the pavement. It was Friday night, and from every one of the numerous windows brilliant 'light streamed, while each floor was thronged with busy shoppers. The time for closing was not far away, but men and women were still entering the three large doors and scattering themselves over the building.

Dutchy Kleve was one of these late arrivals. As he shouldered his way through the crowd his eyes were bright and eager.

He glanced at his watch. It was ten to nine. He smiled, and then strolled to another entrance. Here he waited, expectant, poised; and a man standing near the door glanced casually at him, Kleve winked ever so slightly.

Above the noise of the chattering voices and the shuffling feet came the sound of an explosion; there was a flash, and the lights went out. Evidently the main fuse had blown out.

Everywhere was utter darkness. The crowd hushed its chatter a moment, and then decided to take things philosophically. Some of the less honest took anything which happened to be on the counter nearest to them; others hurried to the exits and the streets.

A shopwalker bawled that everything was all right, and the lights would be on in a moment— a supposition of his own.

A girl screamed, and the scream ended in a gurgle.

Another girl cried, "Help!" once, and was silent.

The crowd continued to flock from the exits.

It took the electricians some time to find the cause of the darkness-a main wire neatly cut. It was almost five minutes before the lights flashed up again, and those who still remained in the building gave vent to a low ironical cheer. At first sight everything appeared to be the same— the shopwalkers and floor-managers dashed hither and thither and told the assistants to carry on.

On the ground floor a male assistant had been serving a lady. Now he took her money, wrapped it in the debit slip, placed it in its carrier, and whisked it on its journey along the wire which led to the great upraised platform in
the centre of the department, where sat four cashiers to give change and receive cash. As he pulled the lever he glanced towards the platform. Then his eyes narrowed, and he looked closer. On his side of the platform he should have seen the top of the marcelled head of Miss Sadie Townes, who was soon to exchange being a hard-working cashier for Trent and Co. for another job, the shop assistant's wife. But Sadie's waved coiffure was not in view. The shop assistant waited a moment. Then, as there had been no sign of Sadie, he left the counter, and took a view of the box from another side. Here he should have seen Miss Maisie Cotter, but she also was not in view, and above her head were about thirty cash-carriers waiting to be attended to.

The shop-assistant approached the floor manager.

"I think there's something wrong up there, sir," he said, pointing to the platform.

The floor-manager swung round and gazed at the "cash-dispensary."

"Why?" he asked.

"The girls seem to have all left," the shop assistant replied. "Neither Miss Townes nor Miss Cotter is in sight, and no change is coming down."

The floor-manager walked quickly between the show cases to the foot of the little staircase leading to the platform. Here he paused.

"Miss Cotter!" he called.

There was no answer. The floor-manager bounded up the stairs and entered the tiny enclosure. A startling sight met his eyes.

Lying on the floor— stretched out in a row-were the four girls, breathing deeply and chokingly.

The man bent over them and sniffed— his nose alert for the fumes of liquor. He sniffed again. Then he raised his head— his eyes wide open with surprise.

"Chloroform!" he breathed.

As he did so he heard shouts coming from men racing down the stairs. Evidently something of the same sort had been discovered on the other floors. His eye was caught by something under one of the desks. He bent and picked it up. It was a pound note.

He turned swiftly to the cash drawers which lined the enclosure, and Jerked each one open in a fever of excitement.

All were empty!

THE SNAIL had been semi-conscious till ten o'clock that morning, but Kleve, when he had been released from his bonds by his companions, decided to carry out the plans the Snail had made, because Friday was the only night on which the shop was open, the takings were the largest on that day, and the cover of darkness was necessary. Then, again, to strike quickly would perhaps sidestep the Duke.

In a highly elevated frame of mind Kleve stepped up the gravel path with two companions laden with bags. He found the Snail lying in his bed, with a nurse hovering round him. His head was swathed in bandages, and only one malignant eye was visible. As Kleve. entered the bedroom he struggled up on his elbow.

"Found him— or her?" he snapped.

Kleve looked at the nurse, and the Snail nodded to her curtly.

"Would you leave us alone for a few minutes, nurse?" he asked.

The woman withdrew.

"No," said Kleve as the door closed. "We cannot find a trace of them— we have combed the city dry."

"Blast him," he snarled. "I'll get him if it's the last thing I do. How is Johnno?"

"Pretty fair. He reckons he will not stay in bed. He is frothing with rage. He keeps asking for his clothes, two guns, and his razors. Of course, we won't give them to him— it would be suicide for him to go looking for the Duke— suicide if he found him. I think the Duke hates Johnno as much as he hates you. He sure has got Johnno's goat."

The Snail twisted his head and grunted with pain.

"The Duke has gone too far this time," he snarled. "He is as good as dead."

Kleve had his own ideas about that. He knew the Duke better than did the Snail. Then he remembered his mission and grinned.

"I have brought the money from Trents." he said.

The Snail's only visible eye brightened a trifle.

"How did it go?" he asked.

"Wonderful!" enthused Kleve, dropping on a chair. "Nothing could have been neater. This will make the city sit up and take notice. I can hardly wait for tomorrow's papers."

"How much did you get?"

"About fifty thousand at a rough guess. The men worked splendidly. Skeeta had the lights out just at the right moment, and the rest was easy. One girl managed to scream, and another cried for help on the ground floor, but no one thought of going to the cash desks in the dark. On the fourth floor one girl struggled free and ran, and one of the men had to sandbag her. But half of them were well out before the lights came on again, and the rest of them had nearly all strolled out before the stunt was discovered. No one was stopped. It was a proper clean-up. I was one of the last to leave, if not the last; and I could hardly tear myself away from the joy of the sensation it caused. I was among the crowd when one of the girls revived, and I heard her vivid, if not altogether truthful, account of how a great masked man grabbed her; even if any of them had been masked, which they were not, she could not have seen in the dark. Another girl, who came round about the same time and learned what had happened, seemed rather secretly pleased to me; I suppose she'd been dipping in the 'peter.' Some of them had hysterics, and were pretty sick. Then I went along to Monty's, where most of the crowd had been, left their bundle, and gone. I waited till all the money was in, gave Mike his instructions, packed the stuff, and came on here with Lash and Skinny."

"Good," said the Snail. "What time is it?"

"Getting on for twelve."

"Better bring the money up here," the Snail said, "and put it in the safe here, where I can keep my eye on it— it might not be secure downstairs, because the Duke will guess who pulled off the job, and will be looking for the loot. If he can get it from that safe he's welcome to it."

"What about Lash and Skinny?"

"Send them away. We will not need them again to-night."

Kleve left the room, and returned soon after, staggering under the weight of two large portmanteaus. He deposited them near the bed, and went downstairs again-returning with two more bags.

"Push the bed over a little from the wall," the Snail commanded. "Don't jolt it— my ear pains like the devil."

Kleve remarked inwardly that the Snail's ear was not paining at all. It was the spot where the ear had been that pained. The Snail leant from the bed and pushed on the maple panelling of the wall. It slid aside, showing a large, solid-looking safe, with both a combination dial and a keyhole.

"Have the men gone?" the Snail asked.

"Yes," said Kleve. "How does this work?"

"It is pirate-proof, Dutchy," the Snail said, a trifle proudly. "It would resist most explosives. To open it you need to know the combination and have two keys. It is a deep safe, and will take the bags, so you need not unload the money."

"Where are the keys?" Kleve asked.

"I have them here," the Snail said, producing a bunch of keys from, beneath, his pillow. "The two largest ones— the shortest one first. So you did not see the Duke at Trent's.'"

Kleve chuckled as he turned the keys. "No," he said. "He slipped this time. This is one lot of lucre he will not get his thieving mitts on to. What is the combination?"

The Snail directed Kleve's fingers, and at last Dutchy flung the thick door wide. Then he crossed to the bags and lifted one with a grunt.

"Phew!" he said. "These bags are heavy."

"That's a jolly old pity," said a drawling voice. "They'll be so awkward for me to carry."

Kleve dropped the bag with a crash of jingling coins and swung round with a curse.

Leaning on the window-sill, with his head through the open window, and his feet on the ladder he had softly placed below— a gun in each hand— was their hated enemy, the Duke!

ARTHUR MOONEY looked to "be the laziest man connected with the C.I.B.. In reality he was the most active. The lazy, slow walk of him, the way he threw his long, awkward frame down into a chair at every opportunity, or learned on whatever happened to be nearest; his stupid, sleepy expression, his slow speech, seemed to breathe laziness; yet every man in the force and many a wrongdoer knew that inside Inspector Mooney was a ferment of energy, a seething force which seemed to eat up all his powers until they were needed. He was about forty, with short, gingery hair turning grey, clean-shaven, and built like a big, awkward boy. He dressed very untidily, and sucked at a rather foul-smelling briar, which more than often was not lighted. He sat that Friday night in Eugene Montagu's library, pipe in hand, and slouched down very comfortably in an armchair.

Feverishly the millionaire walked across the room and back.

"Surely you can find some clue as to her whereabouts," he said testily. "Surely you have some clues-some idea."

"We have our ideas," the detective said in his slow way, "but ideas are not enough. I am pretty sure who has got her, but where she is I cannot say. You have not received any demand for money yet?"

"Only that hint— that letter that was found in the letter-box this morning. Can I see it again, inspector?"

The inspector searched his pocket, so slowly and deliberately that Montagu felt like shaking him. At last Mooney passed the paper across.

Montagu read the typed words again.

Dear Montagu―

Your daughter is safe and in good hands. Do not worry. She is quite happy, and will stay with us, pending further negotiations. She will write soon herself.

The letter was unsigned.

"Can you not trace the typewriter that did this and the paper?" the millionaire asked.

"Sherlock Holmes never lived," Mooney said. "That typewriter has a few tiny defects, but we cannot examine every typewriter in Sydney. The paper is very cheap. I know a stationer, I interviewed him today, who sold over two gross of 100-sheet pads last week to people he had never seen before, and is unlikely ever to see again. To trace, that note is well-nigh hopeless. Yet— it seems sincere. Would you pay?"

"Of course. I will pay anything to get my daughter back. I tried to keep the story out of the papers, but I found that even a millionaire cannot do that."

"Not likely. It was too good a scoop. But you need not worry; something happened tonight which will make the public almost forget your daughter's disappearance. I would have been here earlier, but this new affair interested me."

"What was it?" asked Montagu.

"One of the most audacious crimes of which I have ever heard. A gang cut the lights off at Trent and Co.'s, overpowered the cashiers, cleaned up the day's takings, then walked out. Simple and daring."

Montagu was not listening very attentively.

"It may draw off the public's attention," he said, "but otherwise it does not matter to me."

"I think it does," Mooney seemed to take hours to say the words. "I think it was done by the same gang."

"Same gang!" gasped Montagu. "Impossible!"

"Why so?"

"Well, for one thing, if they had my daughter they would not worry about the extra few thousands such a robbery would give them. Also, if they were caught they might have to give up my daughter. Two big crimes in two nights— no one gang could ever do it."

"Could they not? You do not know the Snail."

"The Snail? What do you mean?"

"The Snail is the nickname of a man named Roy Acton. He is the leader of an organised gang of criminals, and we suspect him to be many times a murderer."

"Then why do you not arrest him?"

"We have— three times. But he is wily and has plenty of resources. He has always managed to put up a defence plausible enough to deceive the jury. We are always waiting to get something on him, but so far he has been too cunning. We can only wait. One day he will make a slip, and I am hoping it is to-night. If I can get him and break up his gang it will mean the end of three-quarters of the robberies now afflicting this town, and will break off the present crime wave short."

"What makes you think he may have my daughter?"

"Well, the two men we found on the lawn last night are connected with him, I'm almost sure. That's why I questioned them and then let them go sending a man on their trail. They were old hands and cautious, however, and gave him the slip."

"But surely this Snail does not knock his own men unconscious?" the millionaire demurred.

"That is a little point I cannot quite understand," Mooney said, "unless it means that there is trouble in the ranks. But, if he has your daughter, I may find her tonight."

"How-tell me," said Montagu eagerly. . "Acton lives in a large house in one of the suburbs. I' think he will have the money there from the Trent robbery. It is only a theory, but worth trying. Your daughter may also be there. ,L am going to pay him a visit and I have a search warrant signed by the Commissioner' himself."

"Commissioner Hart told me you were his best man," the millionaire said, looking at Mooney in a puzzled way, which was not complimentary to the detective. "You are friends, are you not?"

"Pretty close pals," Mooney said. "He is my brother-in-law, too."

"When are you going to— to the Snail's house?"

'"Right away," said Mooney, rising lazily and helping himself up by a nearby table. "It is getting on for twelve."

As Mooney left the gate of the millionaire's home he was joined by another man— a big, burly lump of a man and a typical detective.

"How many men you got, Mac?" asked Mooney.

"Four,"' replied McGowan. "Will that be enough?"

"I think so. I have a feeling there is going to be some excitement to-night."

Which, in the light of later events, surely stamped Mooney as a prophet.

WITHOUT taking his eyes from the two men the Duke stepped up a trifle, threw his leg over the sill and slid into the room.

"Glad to see me, Snail?" he asked softly. "I'm sure you are, old bean."

The Snail's only visible eye flashed sparks of hatred.

Another head appeared at the window, and the Shrimp nodded jovially to the two tense men.

"Good evening," he said. "We meet again— so soon. And the pleasure is all ours."

"How we love to be together," the Duke said, stepping closer to Kleve and relieving him of his gun. "Jolly old fast friends, what! A splendid quartet we make, even if I do say it myself. Now I shall just take your gun from beneath your pillow, Snail, old top. It cannot be comfortable for you there. Don't move or I might knock your other ear off."

The Snail snarled but did not move as the Duke took a heavy automatic from beneath his pillow. The Shrimp leapt into the room and locked the door.

"Hope you are quite well after your recent operation," the Duke rattled on. "I'd like to mention that I have my other car back-the one you stole from Mossy. The kind old police found it unattended, and I claimed it to-day. How is Mike and his fireworks, Dutchy? I suppose he is a bit touchy on the subject, eh, what?"

Dutchy chewed his bottom lip and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed.

"They talk a lot, do they not, Shrimp?" the Duke rambled on. "Regular talkies. No wonder the young lady got tired of their company."

"Your refined torture does not hurt us," the Snail growled. "Some day I will show you another kind of torture."

"Well, old bean, if that's so," the Duke drawled, "I'd better kill you to-night and have done with it."

The Snail's head sank deeper into the pillows.

"I'd hate to have to walk about in fear and trepidation." the Duke said. "But on second thoughts, I don't see why I should put you out of your misery -yet. That's a fine little catacomb you have-a jolly old pirates' cave. I got to like it quite well."

The Snail's eyes blinked. "I am glad of that," he said. "Some day when I don't want it any more I shall show you something else about it— when I have tortured you."

"What— has it any more advantages?"

"Yes," the Snail said grimly. "In one of the rooms is a charge of explosive, set in a wall. The movement of a lever in a house nearby will set it off-blowing out the wall and letting in a subterranean stream— you will find that stream mentioned in history if you would care to read something educating. That stream now reaches the harbor, and by letting it into the mine it would nearly fill it to the top. You will be able to watch it rise."

"A jolly great idea, that, Shrimp." the Duke said admiringly. "You can now see what ingenuity and a fair education can do to a debased mind. When the Snail decides to retire from business he will still have the mine and his gang on his hands. By getting all the gang into the mine and pulling the lever he can get rid of both at once. Admirable!"

The glint in the Snail's eye told the watchful Duke that his shaft had gone home. Kleve swung round and looked at the Snail sharply.

"Yes, Kleve," said the Duke, "you should be thankful for the warning. You would surely have been one of the unwanted pups to be drowned, as you know too much. Methinks, the Snail is not so cautious in his speech tonight. Now, old pals, we must leave you as you will soon have other visitors. You should be extremely grateful to us for taking away this money and clearing out your safe, as the police will be here very shortly."

The Snail jerked himself to a sitting position.

"The police!" he snapped.

"Our old cobbers— those very men. They are jolly well coming here with a search warrant. They seem to harbor suspicions that you know something about Trent's. At least, Mooney thinks so.''

"How do you know?" the Snail asked.

"How do I know anything?" the Duke replied. "I have a motto— not original, mind you— but I think it a deuced clever one. It is: "Know thine enemies." I have two enemies— the police and a lesser one— the Snail. I make it more than half my business to know the moves of both jolly little parties in advance. Now for the stuff. Give Irish the signal, Shrimp."

The Shrimp went to the window and raised his arms as though yawning. Then he returned to his old position leaning against the wall near the door, a long pistol hanging from each hand. The Duke stepped to the safe and bent before it, pulling out the drawers and examining papers.

"Ah," he said. "Here is evidence of some of the Snail's foul deeds— just as well to keep these, too, in case the police get them. Eh, old slimy creature?"

The Snail simply grunted. The Duke turned and grasped the quilt of the bed.

"Would you mind rising a moment, Dutchy?" he asked politely. "I hate to disturb you, but I want this quilt."

Dutchy rose surlily and the Dulse jerked the quilt onto the floor. A few moments later he had thrown all the articles from the safe upon it and tied it into a bundle.

"Now, Shrimp," he said briskly, "the rope."

With one hand the Shrimp uncoiled a rope from around his waist and threw it to the Duke who tied one end of it to a portmanteau and prepared to lower it from the window. Kleve ground his teeth to see the results of his labours fading away.

The Duke lowered the bag, and a few moments later pulled up the slackened rope, repeating the manoeuvre until the four bags and the bundle had vanished. Then he coiled the rope in his hands and looked at Kleve and the Snail.

"We still have a use for this," he remarked. "Lie down beside the Snail, Dutchy. Hurry up."

Dutchy, who had seemed a bit reluctant, obeyed as the Duke's tone became imperative.

"Don't rope me, Duke," whined the Snail. "I'm a sick man."

"Don't be afraid," said the Duke contemptuously, "I won't hurt you. Only just enough to hold you till we get down the ladder. You'll be free before the police come."

He threw the coil under the bed and quickly passed it over their two bodies, and arms— pulling it painfully tight and tying the knot below the bed. It would be only a matter of minutes before the two would be free, but minutes were all the Duke required while he did not want them to be found by the police in such a position. He took a last look round and then raised his head with a jerk.

From afar off sounded a long, shrill whistle.

"Sounds as though the police are here," he said to the Shrimp. "Or pretty near. That was Peter's whistle."

"You go first, Duke," said the Shrimp, "and hurry— I'll slide down after you."

The Duke stepped to the window and threw his leg over the sill. He looked down for the ladder and then stepped back into the room. The Shrimp looked out for the reason of his hesitation— and found it!

The ladder was gone!

At that moment a thunderbolt knocking sounded on the front door of the house.

Chapter 16

The Man At The Door

FLORENCE looked at the clock and then at the young man sitting reading across the room. The clock told her that the time was five minutes to twelve— the inspection of the young man told her nothing— except that he had just finished one page and was about to begin another. He looked up as he turned the page and caught her watching him.

"Isn't it a good yam?" Razor asked,
nodding at the book upon her lap, which she had picked from the book case.

"Er— it might be," the girl said, dropping her eyes swiftly, "I can't seem to focus my mind on it."

"Go to bed then," Razor said. "You must be tired as you had practically no sleep last night."

"Neither did you," she said.

"No," he replied, "but I had a few hours this afternoon and besides, I have to wait up."

"For the Duke?"

"Yes— partly. You can go to sleep in perfect safety, you need not be nervous, you are safe here— and there will be someone awake all night."

"I feel safe here," she remarked. "It is not that. I do not feel like sleep— I feel like— I don't know— sort of pent up. What time will the Duke be back?"

Razor glanced at the clock. "He should be back in about an hour."

"Where has he gone?" "I don't know."

"I don't think you do. though you wouldn't tell me if you did," the girl said. "I suppose he is out trailing the Snail. What a life he leads. He must love danger."

"He does— seems to love it better than life."

"Perhaps he wants to die-been disappointed in love or something like that."

Razor laughed. "The Duke's not that kind of man. I don't think the Duke has ever been disappointed in love or ever will be. For one thing he wouldn't allow himself to love, and, anyway, no one could help loving the Duke. And, if he ever did love— well, I wouldn't care to be his rival as he's the sort of man who gets what he goes after."

"You have a great admiration for him, have you not?" the girl remarked. "A sort of hero worship."

The young man disregarded the slight sneer.

"That is right," he said coolly. "Although he is a thief and a killer he is a man above all other men I have met."

The girl felt snubbed— too snubbed to notice at once the fact that one thief (as she thought) was speaking of another as a thief. She idly turned the pages of her book.

"Perhaps he has gone out to commit a burglary," she murmured after a few moments, "or to kill someone."

"He may have," said Razor casually. "Perhaps that's why he didn't take me."

"Why don't you accompany him on his burglaries?"

Razor saw he had made a slip, but decided to be frank.

"No," he said. "I joined the gang to get revenge on the Snail and I am getting it— in full measure. At least, I am helping. I do not share in the spoils."

The girl noticed the glint in his eyes and leant forward.

"Revenge? For what?" she asked.

"The Snail robbed me of something most dear."

"A girl?"

"He made me an orphan," Razor said simply, and turned his eyes to his book with an air of finality.

The girl sank back into the armchair. Razor was already deep in his book. She let her eyes wander around the room— at the pianola, the Genoa velvet suite, the Persian carpet, the beautiful pictures. Her eyes rested for some time on the portrait of the lady that the Duke had said was his mother. She looked at the clock. Its tick-tock was the only sound in the room. Below it sat Razor and she let her eyes fall to him. He was looking at her, and the look that she surprised in his eyes made her quickly shift her glance.

"So," she thought, "Razor is not so hard-hearted as he seems."

When she very casually looked back at the young man he was apparently reading.

The clock ticked on... Her chair was very comfortable, and she snuggled closer into it. She relapsed into thought. How strange if was for her to be herewith this man-and with a feeling of anxiety for the safety of a common crook who was holding her in captivity. And yet-he was hardly a common crook. She had swept through a maelstrom of fear into a calm-a calm of ineffable peace after the other.... Somewhere in the distance a dog was barking— a tram was rumbling on its way, carrying its various passengers, each with a little world of his or her own, reading the papers about her disappearance. She had attained fame, in a way... The clock ticked on.... The dog ceased his throat exercise— the tram had gone out of hearing with its belated homecomers... Somewhere out there the Duke was laughing at danger ... A motor car tooted at a slow pedestrian... Tick-tock, tick-tock... It was all so calm— too calm— too calm. Tick-tock. Too calm...

Razor raised his head and looked at the girl. She was asleep. She looked very beautiful— her head lying back, her lips slightly parted, a little curl straying across her white brow. He sighed. She was not for such as he. But a cat can look at a king— and he did.

She moved in her sleep and awoke him from his reverie. He rose and left the room, returning a few moments later with a rug which he placed over her curled form. Then he went back to his book. But he was not interested in the story any more.

THE GIRL STARTED and opened her eyes, becoming slowly conscious of the fact that she had been asleep. When she went to move she decided it must have been for hours, as her legs were cramped and stiff. She discovered there was a rug over her, and she lifted her head and looked for her companion.

Razor was standing in the centre of the room in a tense, listening attitude.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"A car just drove up, stopped, and then went away like the deuce," he said softly and anxiously. "The Duke was due long ago— this must be he."

There was a tap on the front door.

Razor stepped out into the passage and switched on the passage lights The girl slipped from the chair, and went to the door of the room.

Razor drew his revolver and turned the latch of the door carefully. He opened the door swiftly and then stepped back aghast.

A man swayed on the doorstep for a moment— then fell forward into the passage and lay where he had fallen. He was almost drenched with blood.

The girl choked off a scream.

The man was the Duke— and he was alone!

Chapter 17

Thrilling Moments and― Death

TRAPPED in the Snail's house, with their escape by the window cut off by the absence of the ladder and with the police at the front door, the Duke and the Shrimp were in a tight corner.

Only for a second was the Duke dismayed. The echoes of the. great knocking on the front door had not died away when he turned, ran round the bed, and commenced to untie the rope.

"We shall need this rope," he said. "You two on the bed, lie perfectly still you can lie like that till the police come. Snail; then you can tell them how you have been robbed: and furnish them with a description of the burglars."

"I am no squealing shelf," the Snail said. " I settle my own debts and I do not want to be deprived of the pleasure of doing it. Just slam that safe shut, will you, and pull the panel across!"

The Duke had untied the rope. As he jerked it from the bed he kicked the safe door shut and closed the panel. Quickly they tied the rope to a leg of the- bed and he and the Shrimp pulled the bed nearer to the window. The two men on it lay still. The Shrimp took a torch from his pocket and turned its light on Kleve and the Snail as he switched out the room-light so that they would not be silhouetted in the window frame as they climbed out.

The Duke grasped the rope, and dropped over' the sill. Loud argumentative voices could be heard in the passage below, and someone was already ascending the stairs. The Duke dropped swiftly from view. The Shrimp climbed through the window and paused on the edge.

"You can unlock the door and untie the rope as soon as you like, Dutchy," he said in his brisk way.

Then, he was gone. He knew it was impossible for Kleve quickly to untie the rope with his weight upon it, and he guessed Dutchy had no knife handy.

He reached the ground safely and found the Duke crouched by the wall.

"The bags have gone," the Duke whispered

"Irish may have them," the Shrimp answered. "Though why in heck he took the ladder away I cannot fathom. Move away from under that window— they may drop something."

Just then the rope dropped to the ground and the light flashed on above. The Duke swept the rope up and followed the Shrimp's crouching form along the wall towards the back of the house. They paused at the corner.

"I thought so," the Duke said softly. "Mooney took the precaution of posting men all round the place. One is over there."

"We have cut it a bit fine," the Shrimp remarked, looking in the direction the Duke indicated and noting the burly form which stood outside the fence and faced towards the house.

Straight before them was the fence of the Duke's own house where lay safety, but it was a high board barrier, and to reach it they had to cover about sixty feet of open lawn bathed in moonlight.

"Curse the moon," said the Shrimp.

"Will not affect it much," the Duke remarked. "We shall have to wait our opportunity to make a dash. I wonder what's going on upstairs."

"I do not care much,' the Shrimp murmured. "That's their business. They may be down here any moment. I wish that sentry was one of the Snail's men. I do not fancy shooting innocent policemen."

From over to their left, where the garages were, came a sound which caused both men to drop flat and wriggle backward.

Plop! A piece of brick flew from the wall.

"Someone's over near the garages using a pistol with a silencer attached," the Shrimp whispered. "Must be one of the Snail's men— cannot be a policeman or any of our boys."

"I have already guessed all that," the Duke said bitterly. "Have you a silencer?"

The Shrimp muttered profanely. "I almost always carry one," he said, "but tonight of all nights I must come away without one. I did not expect any shooting."

"And I, unfortunately, left my air pistol at home," the Duke said. "That may have startled him away at least. He seems a fair shot so our chance of getting across that lawn is reduced still further."

"We shall have to get him— quietly," the Shrimp hissed. "Wait here."

Close to the wall the overhang of the house cast a narrow shadow. Like an eel the Shrimp turned the corner and vanished from the Duke's sight without a sound.

The Duke lay still and listened— every nerve on edge, every faculty alert.

The plainclothes man was watching the house with the immobility of the Sphinx. The night was calm and still— so clear that the noise a late tram some distance away could be heard distinctly. It was the worst kind of night for the Duke's hopes of escape. It was so still and quiet that the Duke could hear the mumble of voices in the room he just left, and occasionally a word uttered in a louder tone than usual would drift down to him.

He heard the door of the room being opened and the Snail's voice calling.

"Don't forget to search every corner," he was saying mockingly. "And if you must dig up the garden, please take care of my roses."

The Duke moved forward and peeped anxiously round the corner. Soon they would complete their search of the house and would begin searching the grounds. He looked towards the street, but gave up any hope of reaching there; he would have to go towards the watcher, and the distance was farther with very little cover. It seemed he must wait for his opponents to show their hands or the Shrimp to return. He decided to spend the time thinking his position over.

Where were the bags? Where was Irish? Who had taken the ladder away? He supplied several answers and then discarded them. Oh, well, he 'thought, he would learn in time-if he lived to learn. He wished the Shrimp were beside him again.

He lay still— one eye round the corner.

Plop!

The noise had come from the direction of the garages and he felt sure no shot had been fired his way. Whoever was hiding by the garages must have seen the Shrimp.

Plop-plop!

The Duke crouched ready to spring. They may have got the Shrimp! Yet, he drew a meed of comfort from the fact that night shooting with a pistol was difficult. As he waited undecided, his mind was suddenly made up for him.

A voice called from the front of the house. "Everything right, Bowen?"

"All clear," the watcher in the street replied.

"We will take this side of the house first, Mac," said Mooney's voice. "Then, we will do inside."

The Duke heard them stepping towards him!

He did not hesitate. As quickly as he safely could he wriggled round the corner of the house and commenced to journey along the wall in the direction of the garages. But he knew he could never hope to reach them at the rate I he was going before the detectives would be upon him— even if the unseen gunman did not spot him first. He had not gone far when he stopped and gazed round for some unthought-of possibility of escape. Then he gasped.

Above his head was an open window! For another moment he paused. An open window at this hour on the ground floor of the Snail's house looked suspiciously like a trap. All was still at the garages, which was one large building— in reality one garage large enough to hold several cars. The Duke decided to risk the window. He pushed the rope, which he still carried, under a nearby shrub. Then, with one movement he was up, through and had dropped down inside. Well for him he was so quick, as the bullet which sang through the darkness merely tore an inch-long furrow in his scalp and flicked his hat from his head. So it was a trap!

The Duke crouched down by the wall and moved a trifle to one side. The moonlight which had made him such a fine target to the watcher in the room as he entered the window also gave a dim illumination. The Duke supposed, it to be a kitchen by the faint outlines of the furniture, but he could not see any sign of the sniper. He was severely handicapped by the fact that he could not fire for fear of the noise bringing the police down on him, while his opponent had a gun equipped with a silencer.

The two detectives walked slowly past the window. The room was very quiet. The Duke drew himself into the shadow of the sink as closely as he could. Evidently the sniper had not. placed him yet or was waiting for the detectives to get out of earshot. The Duke cursed his bulk for the first time in his life, and tried to crush himself up so that he was completely out of the glow of the moonlight.

A cheap clock on the dresser ticked noisily, and began to get on the Duke's nerves. The sniper was still. Perhaps he was afraid to fire because the Duke might be similarly armed and would shoot as he showed himself. He was playing a waiting game.

Time passed and the Duke heard the detectives re-enter the front of the house. The sniper— the Duke felt sure he was outside the open door— would have to make a move soon or not at all. Then something happened.

There was a slight sound outside the window and a head appeared over the sill, followed by shoulders.

"Duke!" called a cautious whisper. "Are you in there, Duke?"

"Duck, Irish!" said the Duke urgently, but he was too late.

Plop-plop! came from the doorway, and Irish threw up his hands and fell backwards.

Bang!

The Duke had decided to risk all on a throw, and the roar of his automatic split the silence.

A man swayed in the doorway, grasped at the frame and fell forward as the Duke dived head first through the window.

Below the window lay Irish. It was all or nothing now— watchers or no watchers. The Duke bundled Irish up in his arms and ran towards the fence. He was surprised when he heard no challenge, no shot, no vicious plop. As he reached the fence a head appeared over it— the welcome head of Peter.

"Here, take Irish," said the Duke. "They got him."

As he lifted his burden across the fence he heard shouts from the house and police whistles. He placed one hand on the fence and vaulted over.

Bang! The roar of a police revolver came from the house and midway in its flight the Duke's body twisted and he hit the ground hard.

"Get you, Duke?" Peter asked anxiously.

"Yes. Good shooting. Hurry!" the Duke gasped, staggering up.

Peter had Irish in his arms and he ran down the side way towards the street.

"Follow me," he cried. "The car is here."

They ran to the street-to where a closed car was standing with engine running. Peter bundled Irish into the back and sprang into the driving seat. The Duke tumbled in the back door as the car jerked forward. He wondered dimly where the police-sentry had gone. There were shouts behind them and two shots, but they tore onward.

The Duke gathered Irish up in his arms and held him. Irish had evidently been badly hit, as his warm blood was streaming out onto the Duke and mingling with the Duke's own.

The Duke knew that his own wound was in his side by the warm stickiness there, but precisely where he did not know or care— he was very worried about Irish and thee Shrimp. He made an effort to stem the blood gushing from Irish's chest while he carried on a staccato conversation with Peter.

"Drive to Dr. Thorn's like the devil," he said.

"Where's the Shrimp?" asked Peter, cutting a corner short.

"Don't know," the Duke said. "Everything went wrong. How did Irish know where I was?"

"'We saw you go in there. I waited at the fence when the Shrimp signalled to Irish from the window above— Lash and Skinny had Just left, and I think they may have seen Irish and come back. Irish got the bags and bundle from you and brought them across to me. It meant two journeys, and was a ticklish job, because Mooney came and posted a man— but I suppose you saw him both got the stuff down and hid it in the vault as quickly as we could, and then came back to see if we could be of any use."

"Did you touch the ladder?"

"No. Why?"

"The Snail's men must have taken it away and then waited to ambush us. Go on."

"Well, the first thing we saw when we came back was you sneaking along the side of the house and getting in the window. It had taken us a while to cache the stuff. We decided the best way out was to remove the watchers to give you a clear run, so we walked up past the first detective as though we were ordinary pedestrians, turned on him swiftly, clubbed him and rolled him against the fence. Then we got the next one the same way and returned-Irish sneaking over to the window to tell you all was clear. That's all-and here's Thorn's."

The car skidded to a standstill and the Duke gathered Irish up in his arms. He was surprised to find himself strangely weak. He staggered as he crossed the pavement and rang the bell. A few seconds later Dr. Thorn himself opened the door.

"Listen, Duke," he said without preamble as he recognised his late visitor, "the police just rang me— you had better not come in."

"All right," the Duke muttered. "Take a look at Irish, Doctor. Is he―"

He left the sentence unfinished.

The doctor pulled the Duke inside, closed the door and switched on the hall light, glancing as he did so at the Duke's blood-smeared face. Then he turned his attention to the limp form in the Duke's arms and made a swift examination.

"Yes," he said with a shake of his head, and opened the door again.

The Duke staggered to the car and fell inside with his burden.

"Go," he said.

The car dashed on its way as the Duke struggled to place Irish and himself on the seat.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked.

"'The police rang him,"' the Duke said wearily. "And it was no use taking Irish in— you have lost your pal, Peter."

Peter gasped and turned in his seat. "He's dead!"

"Yes. But I got the man who did it. I shall leave him with you, Peter— you were his pal and know what to do— I am about all in-about all in. Drop me at Number One."

Peter dashed his eyes clear, gritted his teeth, and swung the car to the centre of the road.

So Irish was gone! Poor Irish!

Soon he pulled the car up with a grinding of brakes and turned in his seat.

"We are there, Duke," he said with a catch in his voice.

The Duke was hunched up over Irish's still body. Peter shook him and the Duke tore himself forcibly from the darkness of unconsciousness.

He balanced himself with the car's door as he climbed out.

"See me to-morrow," he said unsteadily. "Have a short sleep. Goodbye. Peter... Good-bye, Irish, old boy— good-bye."

The car lurched forward and the Duke half-staggered, half-crawled up the path to Number One.

Chapter 18

A Tight Corner

AND WHERE was the Shrimp all this time? Things were happening fast with him.

As he left the Duke's side and wriggled round the corner of the Snail's house, the garages were a dark shadow over to his right, some distance from the other corner of the house. The Shrimp realised that that distance was going to be awkward. For that reason he decided to leave the shielding shadow of the house and risk the open at once. Then he remembered the police sentry behind him and decided against the plan. He must proceed and take what chance fortune offered.

He reached, the corner of the house and looked across at the low  moon-bathed and shadowy garages. He could see no movement there, and the front of the double doors was plainly visible. Evidently the sharpshooter was lurking in the shadows of the other side.

The Shrimp crouched— sprang across that No Man's Land like lightning-and dropped flat. There was no call from the police-sentry— no movement from the sharp-shooter. He leapt upwards and pulled himself on to the roof with the agility and quietness of a cat. He was painfully aware of the fact that if anyone looked from the upper windows of the house he would be a target too good to miss. However, he must take that risk.

He flattened himself as close to the rubberoid as he could and moved slowly across the double roof. At the opposite side he paused and cautiously poked his head over the edge.

Just two feet below him was crouched a man wrapped in thought and with a gun in his hand. The Shrimp drew back his right hand and sent the edge of it like a chopper unerringly at the back of the man's neck— just at the base of the skull— a blow commonly called a "rabbit killer." The man straightened convulsively and as he did so his tightening fingers caused him to pull the trigger of his revolver. Plop! That was the first shot the Duke had heard.

The next moment the Shrimp slid over the edge of the roof like a snake and dropped on the unconscious man's form. He possessed himself of the man's weapon and then turned him over on his back.

"Lash!" he said softly.

He advanced to the front corner of the garages, poked his head round and cast his eyes over the doors. They were padlocked. As a stronghold was necessary, the Shrimp decided that to enter one of the garages was desirable. He went back along the shadowed wall to where the man lay. In that side of t.ie garages was a small window. The Shrimp tried it, but it was locked. He remembered, however, that Lash always carried his tools with him, so he bent over the man, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and helped himself to a long, thin knife with a springy, hooked end.

The garages ran back to the fence of the house that the Duke owned and kept for a listening post, and it would have been an easy matter for the Shrimp to have climbed the fence and escaped. But he had the Duke to think of-also the cutting-off of any means of pursuit which the Snail's men might. employ. By entering the garage he could hide the Duke there, damage , the car or cars, and if the window were locked from within there was a chance the locked garages would not be searched.

There was a click and the Shrimp replaced the tool in Lash's belt and pushed the window open.

Now came the problem of getting the Duke to him. He could not call— it would be dangerous to signal by waving his arms. How then could he call the Duke? If the Duke thought he— the Shrimp— were in danger he would come as quickly as he possibly could. The Shrimp smiled at the thought and pointed Lash's gun at the ground.

Plop-plop!

That the Duke heard the shots and that they had somewhat the effect the Shrimp intended is known, but what the Shrimp did not know was the proximity of the detectives to the Duke.

The Shrimp waited calmly.

From somewhere inside the house came that ominous sound-plop!

The Shrimp straightened. Someone was pot-shotting at the Duke. He stepped warily towards the corner to cover the Duke's advance. Near the corner he paused abruptly.

Two men were talking openly and coming his way. He recognised the voices— they were. Mooney and McGowan. For a second his mind worked  rapidly. By some slice of bad luck they were searching the exterior of the house, first. Yet, he concluded, they had evidently not met the Duke, as their tones were casual. Had the Duke made a run for the fence, dodged a bullet, and been successful? The Shrimp cast, his eyes behind him at the fence, but decided against flight, as the Duke may not have escaped after all. He must stand by. Then he remembered the open window. What if the Duke had taken that chance? The Shrimp decided against absolute flight, and, turning swiftly, ran to the garage window, climbed through, and shut and locked it behind him. Again he waited.

He heard the detectives cross to the garages and rattle the padlocks a few feet from him.

"Have to have a look in here," said Mooney. "We must not forget to ask Acton for the keys."

Then they passed on, seemingly not deeming it necessary to walk down the side of the garages, where they must have stumbled over the unconscious figure of Lash. Instead, they crossed the lawn and went up the side of the house towards the front.

The Shrimp felt his way to a car, sat on its step and composed himself to wait. It was very quiet in the completely closed garage, and small outside sounds did not enter, so the Shrimp did not hear the plop-plop which was the death-knell of Irish.

But he heard the smashing explosion which followed it, and recognised the sound as the peculiar bark of the Duke's automatic. So things were moving out there, and the Duke was in such a plight that he had opened out the fireworks regardless of the noise.

The Shrimp sprang to the window and swiftly unlocked it. As he did so he heard shouting voices. But the Duke was in danger, and his place was by his side. He climbed from the window and ran to the. front corner of. the garages-just in time to see the Duke passing Irish over the fence. The Duke grasped the fence, and as he did so McGowan appeared at the corner of the house.

The Duke vaulted and the detective fired as the Shrimp raised his gun. The Duke vanished from view and McGowan ran forward, to fall cursing a moment later as the Shrimp's bullet tore through his leg.

The Shrimp hesitated. So Irish had been shot! But the Duke appeared to be safe, so he would wait and watch events— he would hold the fort. He ran back to the window and a moment later was back in the garage.

As he locked the window he heard Mooney shouting loudly. His words were disquieting.

"Where's our look-outs? Someone's shot Mac. I think the shot came from the garages. Search them at once!"

Chapter 19

Vanished!

AS the Shrimp heard the ominous words, he stiffened and his hand closed tighter about Lash's pistol. It struck him that it may be empty by this— should be, in fact. But he could not show a light and had not enough time to reload.

He had no wish for a brush with the police and certainly no desire to be charged with attempted murder— though had he meant to kill McGowan, that worthy detective would not now have been swearing loud and lustily. Even the Duke could not save him from the consequences of that shot if he were caught. It was too late to leave by the window. There was only one chance— a dash when the doors were opened. It was neck or nothing.

But Fate, which had dealt the Shrimp and the Duke so many deuces in the last hour, suddenly decided to deal the Shrimp an ace.

While the shooting was taking place— perhaps because of it— Lash, on his bed of turf, stirred, groaned, and opened his eyes. Dimly and unknowingly he saw the Shrimp run pest him and vanish. He made an effort to gather his scattered wits in which he was greatly assisted by a voice, which he recognised, shouting: "I think the shot came from the garages. Search them at once!"

"Lord!" gasped Lash. "Mooney!"

He struggled to his feet while his head ached intolerably. He realised with a sickness in the pit of his stomach that he had housebreaking tools in his possession and that Mooney had said he was out to get him first chance he could. He looked around wildly and espied the fence behind him. He turned towards it and as he did so Mooney and another detective ran round the corner of the garages. They knew there was an armed man lurking somewhere, but they had not hesitated to charge— it was simply their job, and Mooney's way, No more was he the lazy-looking idler— he was briskness itself,

"Here he is!" he cried, seeing Lash's flying form. "Stand or I fire!"

Lash cleared the fence seemingly without touching it and as the advancing Mooney raised his revolver to Are, his foot caught on a tuft of grass and the bullet went wide. By the time he and his companion reached the fence Lash was just dropping out of sight over the farther fence.

The detectives called on him to stop, and followed with as much speed as possible, but they were bulkier than Lash and did not have the fear of death or prison behind them to hurry them along, so by the time they reached the other fence of the Duke's house Lash had disappeared and the night was quiet. They climbed the next fence and searched the vicinity for about ten minutes, with much noise, which caused the occupants of that house to retire further under their blankets and say a silent prayer. The search was in vain, however; Lash had made his escape. They finally reached the street and found another detective looking up and down for them.

"Thank heaven!" he said when he saw them. "I was beginning to think I was the only one left. McCarthy and Fisher have been sand-bagged— I found them lying by the fence."

"Did you follow the others?" Mooney asked.

"I couldn't," the detective answered. "They hopped in a car and went off like blazes. I fired a couple of shots at their tyres and got their number."

"Keep it as a souvenir," said Mooney. "It will not be the real one. If we trace it I suppose it will lead us to some maiden aunt's Rolls Royce, and give someone a laugh at our expense. I have tasted some before. See anyone else?"

"There's a fellow lying in the kitchen— he has been shot in the neck."

"Conscious?"

"No, but he does not seem very badly hurt. I had not time for more than a glance and then I came after you. He had a pistol in his hand. I took that. Here it is."

Mooney took the pistol with its unshapely silencer and "broke" it open, stopping beneath a street lamp to examine it.

"Three shots been fired," he said. "I shall have to talk to your wounded bird.

He has evidently been making trouble for someone-maybe he dropped McGowan. All this has got me beat— I cannot make it out at all. There is something more here than there seems."

They were passing the Duke's house, and Mooney went closer to inspect a notice pasted on one of the front windows. it read: "For Sale," and the windows seemed to be uncurtained. Hidden by the darkness of the room two eyes gleamed at Mooney's silhouette.

The detectives went on to the Snail's house. In the library they found two of their confreres applying cold water to their brows, with the nurse and Kleve standing by. The Snail kept no servants overnight on the premises.

"I shall get your reports later," Mooney said to the detectives who had been sandbagged. "Where is McGowan?"

"Gone to the hospital," Fisher answered.

"Right. Do not leave, Kleve. I want to have a talk with you later."

"You cannot arrest me," Kleve said surlily.

"Who said I was going to arrest you, Guilty conscience?"

Kleve bit his lip. "Anyhow, I have not done a thing."

"Perhaps not," Mooney said, "but you have got a pretty fair idea who has been doing things. Now for the man in the kitchen. Come with me, Tucker."

The four who had been in the room looked at Mooney with varied expressions, though all were surprised as it was their first intimation that there was any person other than themselves and the Snail in the house.

It was a pool of blood— wet! "What a damn fool I am," said Mooney.

"What man?" called McCarthy. "Want any help?"

But Mooney was already out of sight down the passage.

He and his companion found the kitchen and switched on the light.

On the floor was a pool of blood, but of a human being there was no other trace.

"He has got away!" Mooney spat at the stove angrily.

He stepped over to the open window On the sill was a dark smear of blood Mooney looked at it narrowly.

"He is either pretty weak or someone has dragged him through there," he said thoughtfully. Then after a pause he added, "Let us try the garages again."

They climbed through the window and crossed the quiet lawn to the garages, Mooney watching the ground.. At the garages he cast his eyes about him.

"There is a shed over there," he said "See if you can find something to smash off this lock."

The detective crossed to the shed and returned in a moment with a heavy axe.

One swing of it was sufficient to bend the padlock out of shape. A tap then sent it to the ground. Mooney drew his torch and revolver, and pulled the doors wide.

But though they searched for some minutes they found nothing more notable than an open window.

"Nothing here," Mooney said, coming through the door connecting the two garages. "There has been someone here. He may have " He paused and held up his hand for silence, while he listened with his head thrust forward like a bird. Then he shrugged. "This place is giving me the creeps. Several times I have thought I heard someone breathing and a drip-drip like a tap. As I was saying, he may have left while we were searching for that other fellow, and he would be well away by this. Better get back to the house. I want to ask Acton some questions."

A few feet from Mooney as he spoke lay the man for whom they were searching, and he was still unconscious. Even Mooney was liable to overlook something once in a while.

They retraced their steps the way they had come to the group in the library. Mooney noticed at once that Kleve was missing.

"Where is Kleve" he asked sharply.

"He went upstairs," Fisher answered. "The Snail called him, and we let him go after warning him not to try to escape."

Mooney's eyes narrowed. "I hope he does not," he said. "Ring Dr. Thorn and Marks the chemist, also Doctors James and Barloff, and warn them to ring me at once if any wounded men consult them. Come on, Tucker."

Then he and his confrere went up the stairs two at a time. At the bedroom door Mooney paused and listened.

He pushed the door wide.

The bed was empty, and the Snail and Kleve were nowhere to be seen!

Chapter 20

The Pool On The Roof

"WELL, I'm damned!" Mooney ejaculated. "Go to the head of the stairs, Tucker, and yell to Fisher, McCarthy and Thompson to search the ground floor thoroughly while we search this floor."

While Tucker was obeying his chief's orders, Mooney went to the open window and looked out and down, then he looked under the bed, and in the wardrobe. There were no other places able to hide one man— let alone two, so he went on to the next room, being joined by Tucker on the way.

The window of this room looked out from the back of the house, and Mooney in his search chanced to glance through it. Then he looked closer. The moon had waned and the black roof of the garages was very dim and shadowy. It seemed to Mooney, though, that there was a darker shadow on the roof— a shadow which suggested the outline of a man. He called Tucker to his side.

"Can you see anything on the roof of those garages?" he asked.

Tucker stared a moment and then wagged his head. "No," he said. "That big tree is throwing shadows on it, that's all."

"Maybe that's it," Mooney. said, not quite satisfied that his companion's theory was correct.

Though the five detectives searched the house and grounds high and low they found no trace of the three missing men or of any stolen property. It was over two hours later that Mooney decided to give up the search and assembled his men in the library.

"You can go home, nurse," he said to the rather unnerved woman. "Your patient does not seem to need you. You, Tucker, and you, Fisher, will stay here on duty till I send you relief. Hold anyone who comes Or appears in the house. And do not let them out of your sight this time. Keep quiet, too, and you may surprise them. They have me tricked now, but my day will come. I am going to the station for a think and a sleep. Ring the station every hour if you are not relieved at once and report to the sergeant if all is well or otherwise. Good night."

As Mooney and his two companions were going down the front steps, Mooney paused thoughtfully.

"I wonder!" he mused. "Anyway, I must satisfy myself."

He led the way round the house to the back and crossed the lawn to the garages. He walked up the side, grasped the edge of the roof and drew himself up. There was no one on the roof.

As he was about to lower himself something caught his eye— a faint gleam on the dull surface. He climbed on to the roof with surprising agility and played his torch over the spot which had gleamed.

It was a pool of blood— still wet!

"I thought I was right," he said softly. "That was our man from the kitchen, though how he got up here in his condition I cannot fathom. He has evidently made no effort to staunch the flow of blood, either. I am playing in bad luck tonight— I should have had a closer look before. Good lord— that dripping and breathing— when we searched these garages he was on the roof all the time; What a damned fool I am! Oh, well, I shall follow his trail in the daylight— if he has left any."

He swept his torch in a wide circle, but the blood was in one place only, except where it had run to the edge and dripped down into the guttering. Mooney scratched his chin thoughtfully and then descended from the roof.

"There are brains on this job," he said to the other two. "I know Acton pretty well and he is fairly cunning, but there seems to be someone shrewder than even he. Oh, well, they are all clever-and they almost all finish up eating hominy. Come on, we will not keep the nurse and taxi waiting."

FISHER and Tucker, in the library, listened to the taxi drive away and smoked in silence.

"Wish I had some aspirin," Fisher said once, and then was silent again.

Ten minutes passed while the room became smoky from the men's pipes. Then, without warning, the light went out.

"Who's there?" cried Fisher, springing to his feet.

Silence was his only answer, so he stumbled across the dark room to the switch, revolver in hand, and pushed the switch down, flooding the room with light.

"That's funny," he said, looking at the switch intently. "But the switch is old and loose."

"Was it right up?" asked Tucker.

"No. Perhaps the connection fell apart and caused the light to go out. That sudden darkness gave me a bit of a shock."

He stepped out through the door and explored the passage, but there was no one in sight.

"If anyone is playing funny business, they can make another move as soon as they like," Tucker said loudly. "I shall face the door and fire at the first thing I see."

The two men sat down again and resumed their pipes.

UP ON the first landing of the stairs a figure was crouched, listening and smiling. It was the Shrimp. Satisfied that the detectives were safe for the time being, he continued his journey upwards, and entered the Snail's lighted bedroom.

Swiftly and noiselessly he crossed the room to the panel which covered the safe, pushed it back and pulled open the safe door. Inside was Kleve, doubled up like a penknife. The perspiration was streaming down his face and he looked too cramped to move.

"Sssh!" said the Shrimp. "Do not talk and do not start anything. There are two 'jacks' downstairs. Where's the Snail?"

At that moment a panel farther along the wall moved and disclosed the Snail flattened in the narrow aperture. He was in his pyjamas, and the automatic he held was pointed straight at the Shrimp's head.

The Shrimp grinned. "Put it away," he whispered. "And get into bed— you will catch a cold."

"What's the big idea?" the Snail asked without moving.

"'What did you want to vanish for?" the Shrimp asked.

"Kleve came up and told me a man had been found in the kitchen, and as I did not know who it was and what he had on him and what he might say I thought it better if Kleve and I vanished for a while. How did you know where we were?"

"Child's play," the Shrimp said dryly. "I came up to set you free and to put you wise as to what has been going on."

"Why?" asked the Snail, his eyes narrowing.

"Because I hate to see anyone making a fool of himself," the Shrimp answered. "The police have nothing on you— you have only to keep your mouths quiet and act stupid-which should be easy— and know nothing and nobody, and they cannot touch you for what has been going on here tonight. I ran a risk coming here to put you wise— I had to switch out the library light and sneak past the 'jacks' in the dark to reach you, and now I have to get out again. Get into bed, you big mug, and leave that gun where the 'jacks' cannot find it."

It was a long speech from the Shrimp, but it was sincere, and had its effect.

The Snail passed the gun to Kleve and climbed stiffly and thankfully into bed.

"Well, I suppose I owe you some thanks," he began. "But―"

"No need for thanks," the Shrimp rapped out. "Do not think I was running the risk out of kindness. You see, the Duke and I do not want the police to get you. We can do that ourselves, and, besides, we have, not made enough out of you yet-you represent money to us."

The Snail growled deep in his throat and Kleve moved uncomfortably. The Shrimp's words took the Snail's mind back a few hours.

"Where is the money from the Trent job?" he asked sourly.

"It is O.K. We have it all safe and sound." The Shrimp was not sure he was telling the truth, but the fact of the Snail asking the question made him fairly certain.

There was silence for a few moments and then the Snail shook off his bitter feelings and became the business man again.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Evidently Lash and Skinny did not go far when Kleve passed them out," the Shrimp said, rapidly, "or else they saw some of our men and came back. There was a bit of trouble— the details will not interest you, but Skinny was shot in the kitchen and he was found by a demon with a gun in his hand from which had been fired three shots. I was hiding in the garage; and while the demons were chasing Lash, who had been foolish enough to be seen, and whom— from what I overheard them say— they did not catch, I left the garage, entered the house and placed Skinny on the roof of the garages. I thought it best for himself that he be not found, as a scapegoat would be very handy to Mooney just now. I left, him there and hid till the "jacks" entered the house; then I carried Skinny to the street and sent him to your mine in a taxi. If it had been wartime I would have received a V.C. for rescuing a foe under fire."

"How did you get the taxi?"

"Never mind," The Shrimp was hardly likely to tell the Snail that he had rung up from the house next door, where he had also been hiding while the detectives were searching for Skinny and the latter lay on the roof of the garages. "After shipping Skinny away I returned to the house and did a bit of listening in to Mooney's remarks and then— at the first opportunity I got— I slipped up here to put you right. Listen!"

A stair had creaked, but slight as the sound was the Shrimp had heard. He placed his finger to his lips, looked round for a means of escape, stepped across the room into the open cavity in the wall which the Snail had vacated and pulled the panel shut behind him. Kleve swiftly turned and placed the guns in the safe, and prepared to close and cover it...

When Fisher cautiously poked his head and a revolver around the corner of the door a moment or two later, he was surprised to see the Snail in bed and Kleve idly and innocently swinging his legs from where he sat on its corner.

"Hello," said the Snail to the astonished detective. "What's up? Ghosts?"

"How the devil did you get here?" Fisher asked. "And where have you been?"

He stepped into the room, followed by Tucker, and glanced swiftly around. Everything appeared to be in order.

"You see," the Snail began, "I am an old man and have always lived a most sheltered existence, so, ill and all as I was, when I heard revolver shots and shouts and other sounds of disturbance going on found my usually peaceful home, I naturally became afraid, so my friend and I hid ourselves."

"Where?" asked Tucker.

"Oh— somewhere," the Snail said, and Tucker was surprised to see the Snail's only visible eye droop in what was evidently a wink.

Tucker watched fascinated as the Snail lifted one arm and pointed to a section of the wall. He placed his finger to his lips and made a motion expressive of pulling a trigger. Then he made another motion of pushing back a sliding door.

The detectives understood. There was a sliding panel in the room and there was an armed man hidden behind it, whom the Snail was "shelfing.''

Even Kleve's lip curled a little as he understood the lowness of the Snail's action. He was breaking the crook's one and only commandment, "Thou shalt not squeal." And he was betraying a man who had just done him a good turn.

The Snail was elated. He consoled himself with the thought that all was fair in love and war. He knew there was not other way out of that cubby hole. The Shrimp was trapped.

The two detectives stepped towards the panel the Snail carefully indicated, their revolvers ready.

And at the door of the room behind them a hand slowly crept into view— creeping, crawling...

Chapter 21

Razor Steps In

RAZOR and the girl stood stock still for a moment, amazed to the point of speechlessness at the sight of the Duke in such a condition. It did not seem possible, their minds could not grasp the appalling fact. They had both come to consider the Duke as being invulnerable; even to consider the fact of his being wounded or killed was to excite laughter.

But facts were facts, and Razor bent swiftly at last.

"Help me carry him to his room," he said, placing his hands beneath the Duke's armpits.

The girl woke from her stupor and pulled herself erect, though she had to shake off a feeling of nausea. She grasped the Duke's ankles, and between . them they carried him to his room and laid him on the bed. Razor, forgetting the presence of the girl in the importance of the job before him, ripped open the blood-drenched waistcoat.

"He seems to have lost a lot of blood," he mused as he sought to locate the wound.

The first thing to strike his fingers was the hard surface of the steel jacket the Duke wore beneath his shirt. He ripped open the shirt and looked at the steel for a hole.

"What is that?" asked the girl curiously, awakening Razor to the fact that there was a lady present.

"A steel jacket," he said, turning. "You had better leave the room— these sights are not for eyes such as yours."

"I am not afraid of blood," the girl said bravely. "I have been a volunteer relieving nurse at the hospitals, and I know first aid. Maybe I can prove to the Duke that I can be useful after all. I will go and put on some hot water while you undress him and put him to bed."

"Good!" said Razor. "You will find a first aid kit in a cupboard in the bathroom. Thank goodness, he is breathing."

The girl left the room, and when she returned some minutes later with a dish of boiling water, bandages, and lint. Razor had stripped the Duke and had placed him between the bloodstained sheets with a large bath towel wrapped tightly about his waist to staunch the blood.

"Where is he hurt?" the girl asked.

"A large bullet has torn its way in the front of the fleshy part of his right side and has come out the back. I do not think it has pierced more than the muscles, but he. has lost a lot of blood. The wound is just below the ribs, and unfortunately the bullet struck the one spot not protected by the jacket, as it is open there to allow free movement. The bleeding has almost stopped, and it seems impossible that he could have lost the blood that covers his clothes. Get me some brandy from the front room."

The girl hastened to obey, and when she returned Razor had the nasty blue wound exposed and was washing it clumsily. She set down the brandy.

"Here," she said. "You hold the dish and let me do that— I might be able to do it better than you "

Razor looked at her in surprise. It seemed that the little and very scared lamb or autocratic statue of the hours gone by had vanished and that the girl had taken a new identity— one of authority and confidence and one intensely human. Her bravery was all the more worthy because it was forced. He stepped aside and took the dish she offered him.

She bent over the Duke and, steeling her nerves, set briskly about her repugnant task. Razor stood by, watching her dreamily and getting in her way more often than not. The task was one she had never attempted before, but she had assisted on a somewhat similar occasion, and now tried to do as she had seen the doctor do. Once when she was snipping away some dead flesh the unconscious patient groaned and moved, and when Razor stepped forward at the sound she cast him a quick, apprehensive glance as though afraid he might strike her for hurting the Duke. But all he said was: "Will I hold him still'"

At last her task was finished, and the Duke was a "neat Job." The jagged wound had been thoroughly cleansed, plugged with cotton wool back and front, and bound securely. The girl pulled the bed-clothes up to the Duke's chin and took the dish from Razor's hands.

"Now you can revive him," she said, and passed out of the room.

This was the moment Razor had been eagerly awaiting. He swept up the brandy flask, drew the stopper, and forced some of the fiery fluid between the Duke's lips. For a moment the Duke lay still. Razor was about to repeat the dose when his leader coughed and his eyes flickered. Suddenly they opened wide, their expression was thoughtful for a moment, and then they sprang to their usual keenness.

"Razor," said the Duke, "is the Shrimp home?"

Razor thrilled. That was the Duke's way— his first thought always of his men.

"No," he replied. "Where is he?"

"You must bring him home," the Duke said. "Where is she-the girl?"

"I am here." Florence answered the question herself from the doorway.

"Good!" said the Duke, struggling to rise.

He bit at his lip and lay back again.

"Of course," he said, "they shot me. You must have put me to bed. Razor, there is no time to lose— we had a bad spin to-night. Things went wrong. Irish was shot— dead!" The girl caught her breath. "We were at the Snail's house and the Shrimp is there somewhere. They were firing at him— I am anxious. You must go and find him and bring him home-no matter where he is— what condition he is in."

"Where are Morry and Tom and the Hose?" asked Razor, mentioning the  remaining members of the Duke's gang,

"They were on special duty, but now they will be helping Peter with— with Irish. Go at once."

The Duke sank his head back into his pillow exhausted from his long speech, and closed his eyes. Razor rose purposefully and felt his pocket' to see if his gun was in place. In doing so his eyes fell on the girl; and he frowned. He tiptoed to her and drew her after him into the passage.

"I will have to leave you alone with him," he said in a puzzled tone. "Will you stay?"

"I am on parole," she replied. "And, besides, I would not be so mean as to leave him now."

Razor smiled with relief. "Can you use a gun?" he queried.

"I don't know," she replied with a smile. "I have never tried."

"Well, you will find one in his coat," the young man said. "Do not hesitate to use it if— if anyone comes. Do not open the door unless you hear three distinct rings."

"All right," the girl said. "I will guard your Duke. Good-bye— Razor."

She held out her hand, and Razor stepped back awkwardly.

"Good-bye." He almost choked as he pressed her soft hands in his.

"Good luck and a speedy return," she said gaily as he went down the passage.

Then he slammed the front door, walked swiftly down the path and street, and turned the first corner. Farther along the street in which he now found himself shone the white and blue lights of a garage. He hurried towards it, and found a sleepy private-hire chauffeur conversing with a not over-industrious car-washer. In a few minutes. he was speeding towards the Snail's home.

He dismissed the car at a corner near his objective, and watched it until its tail-light had faded from view. Then he went cautiously down the street on the far side of the road to the Snail's house. Opposite the place he paused in the shadows to take his bearings. Every window of the house was alight, and as he watched he saw the shadows of men flitting across one blind and then another. Razor wondered what it was all about, and surmised that a search of some kind was in progress. Were they looking for the Shrimp? He allowed his eyes to roam over the grounds.

Then his body tensed. Had he seen a movement on the roof of the garages? He strained his eyes through the darkness and distance. Yes, there it was again. He could see what it was now— the stooping figure of a man, and he was dragging something towards the next house. Then he climbed from the roof and pulled his burden after him.

Razor waited for his reappearance, and while he was doing so a taxi drew up before the house next to the Snail's and the driver was about to climb down when a short, squat figure staggered from the side entrance to the house bearing the body of a man in his arms. He placed the man in the back of the car and turned to give some instructions to the driver and as he did so the light from a street-standard fell upon him.

"The Shrimp!" breathed Razor, with a gulp of joy and relief.

As the taxi drew away from the kerb Razor detached himself from the shadows and stepped into the road. The Shrimp had turned to re-enter the sideway, but at the sound of the footstep, on the still night air he swung round swiftly, his hand already in his pocket.

"It is me, Shrimp," Razor said. "What is doing?"

"Speak softly," the Shrimp began. "The night is so still. How are you, Razor, and how did you get here? Come in here and go quietly."

Razor followed the Shrimp into the sideway and along into the backyard. The Shrimp opened the back-door of the empty house with a key and they stepped into the dark kitchen.

"Sit down on the floor and rest yourself," the Shrimp said. "I am glad to  see you but we have got to wait till the majority of the coppers leave before we make another move. We have had a devil of a night here, Razor. We have had some regular fun. They shot the Duke as he was getting over the fence." Razor was surprised to hear the Shrimp chuckle. "McGowan did it, but I drilled his leg for him. Of course he only hit the Duke's steel jacket, because he got away."

"He did not hit the jacket," Razor said. "He missed the jacket and hit the Duke."

The Shrimp stiffened and leant forward anxiously. "Tell me— quick!" he snapped.

Razor smiled. "He is only slightly wounded," he said reassuringly.

"Thank God!" the Shrimp answered fervently. "Those words delay the Snail's death and the deaths of as many of his gang as I could get."

And the way he said it caused Razor, who was not a nervous young man by any means, to shiver a little.

They exchanged confidences and talked for an hour. Then the Shrimp rose and went to the window.

"So Irish has gone," he said softly. "He was a good lad. Poor boy, it is a pity. I feel responsible in a way, too. I joined him up— the same as I did you, Razor."

"It is all in the game," Razor said. "I shall be ready for my issue when it comes. This is not child's play."

"No, it is not," the Shrimp agreed thoughtfully.

"Nor women's either," Razor said.

"Seems it is women's, too," the Shrimp said dryly, "from what you tell me of the Montagu girl's nursing abilities. She is handy to have about the place... I know who got Irish— it was Skinny, and I am almost sorry I sent him away in that car. No, I am not. Irish was Peter's pal, so Skinny belongs to Peter. The police car has gone— I heard it. Come on, it is time for work."

They left the house, climbed the fence, and quickly crossed the lawn. They found the kitchen window closed and bolted, also the back-door, so they went round the house to the front.

The front door was open!

Inside, in the library, just off the hall near the door, two men were talking. The Shrimp crept closer and listened intently.

"Tucker and Fisher!" he whispered. "Listen... Evidently the Snail and Kleve have got the wind up and are hiding— most likely one of them is in the safe. I am going up to get them out— they are doing no good there. I shall switch out the library light and cross it in the darkness to the stairs. If the Jacks make a move follow behind them— you may be needed."

It is known how the Shrimp gained the Snail's bedroom and what transpired there up to the time the Snail indicated the Shrimp's hiding place to the police.

Razor, after listening to Fisher talking over the hall-phone for a few moments, had followed on, and now, peeping round the bottom of the door-Jamb unseen, saw every move. As the police stepped towards the panel he rose, sliding his hand to the light switch. He found it, and turned it up. The room became dark.

"Don't move I" barked Razor. "If any man moves I will fire— I have you all covered."

Chapter 22

An Interlude

Florence listened to Razor's footsteps fading away, then turned and walked softly into the room where the Duke lay. His eyes were still closed, but he did not have the appearance of being asleep. She noticed that his usually smooth face was drawn and looked older. She seated herself on a chair by the bed.

The Duke opened his eyes.

"Hello," he said wearily. "It is your turn now. The lion has been laid low and must depend upon the lamb."

She smiled mischievously, and pulled the bedclothes straight where the Duke had disarranged them trying to sit up. "Of course," she said, "that would be all right if the lamb were a useful lamb."

He smiled a trifle, and regarded her steadily for a few moments. Then: "I am being forced to confess that you have your uses. It is the usual thing to brighten a sick room with flowers, but when you smile like that one sees the utter inadequacy and uselessness of flowers."

"Quite a gallant speech," she replied, flashing him a bright glance. "But I am sure it is not customary for gaolers to use gallant speeches to their prisoners."

"But then," he said, "there was never a prisoner so beautiful as you."

The girl rose with a laugh. "I see you have had experience," she said. "As I cannot hope to compete I will clean up this mess."

She stacked the surgical instruments and other things on a small tray, and picked up the Duke's bloodstained clothing from the floor where Razor had thrown it. The Duke's eyes followed her while he felt gingerly at the bandages on his side.

"Razor should have been a doctor," he remarked, suppressing a moan as he touched a sore spot. "He has done this job well."

She smiled. "Yes," she said, "I am the only useless one."

She tested the weight of the Duke's coat. It was an unusually heavy coat, and by shaking it she found the reason. An automatic pistol fell from a specially made holster in each sleeve, and hit the floor with a double crash.

The Duke smiled. "Luckily they did not explode," he remarked. "These triggers are very easy to set off. Give them to me, and I will keep them here. Can you use one?"

The girl did not answer as she lifted the guns very carefully and gingerly.

"I can see you cannot," the Duke said. "They will not bite."

"Perhaps not," she said with a dry smile, "but I have no wish for a wound such as you have."

"Have you seen it?" asked the Duke in slight surprise.

"Yes, I— you see, I helped Razor to dress it— I held the dish."

"Oh! Razor should have had more sense than to let you see "

"It was nothing," the girl broke in. "I did not mind, really."

She picked up the remainder of the bloodstained clothing and other materials, and carried them to the bathroom. Then she returned to the bedroom to find the Duke staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"You will find some cigarettes and matches in the top-drawer of the dressing table," he said as she entered. "Would you be so kind as to bring them to me?"

She nodded, did as he had bidden her, and held the match for him. He puffed thankfully and luxuriously.

"Have one yourself," he said. "They are good cigarettes."

She wagged her head. "I do not smoke," she said.

"Sensible little person," he remarked, and smoked on in silence.

She leant on the end of the bed and contemplated him.

"Are you any relation to the Shrimp?" she asked suddenly.

He turned his eyes to hers. "Why?" he asked in turn.

"I think there is a resemblance," she said. "Not always— only when you are both looking natural. I was wondering about it— among other things."

"You should not wonder," he said, and abruptly changed the subject. "I would like you to read to me if you are not too tired. Sit on this chair by the bed."

"Whatever shall I read?" she asked, a little amazed at his request.

"Anything," he said. "It will make me sleep."

"Yes, that is true," she remarked. "It may send you to sleep. What kind of a story would you like— a thriller?"

"Good lord, no!" the Duke exclaimed. "They are so fantastic and so simple they bore me."

"Does your own life bore you?" she asked dryly.

He chuckled. "Read me a love story," he said. "Something mushy— to suit my mood."

She glanced at him quickly, caught his smiling eyes, and looked away, turning as she did so to the door.

"It seems you can never be serious, Duke," she said as she went out.

She returned from the lounge a few moments later with a book, and sat down on the stiff-backed chair beside the bed.

"That will never do," the Duke said at once. "You must be comfortable. Pull over that low cane chair, and make yourself comfortable among the cushions.

She rose again. "I suppose," she said, "that a prisoner must always do as she is told."

"That is mean of you," the man said, "and uncalled for."

At last she was comfortably ensconced in the chair, using the edge of the bed as a rest for her hands and the book.

"Shall I commence?" she asked.

He nodded. "I hope the Shrimp is all right," he said abstractedly. "Irish is bad enough, but he has gone, and crying over spilt milk is a foolish business. I am anxious about the Shrimp. I am sorry. Go on and read." He added almost to himself: "I hope the Shrimp is all right."

"So do I," she said, and began to read. "Love's Victory. Chapter One. How They Met. It was one of those nights just made for romance. The air was still and a beautiful full moon rode through a clear sky peopled by only twinkling stars―"

"Like tonight" the Duke broke in, "though I called the moon other things than beautiful. Begins well— plenty of mush. Go on."

And she read on, but not another word did he hear. She might have been reading in Chinese for all he knew— or cared. He had other things to think of— Irish, Razor, the Shrimp; and he had plans to make, things to puzzle over. The Duke was never so jolly or smiling as when he was worried or in trouble. But after a while he forget his troubles, and became irresistibly interested in the flowing song of the girl's voice, the movement of her lips, the rise and fall of her bosom, the expressions which flashed in her downcast eyes-which, owing to the low chair, were level with his own. He never tired of watching and watching, and at last she became conscious of his gaze, and in her confusion read a paragraph twice. When she discovered her mistake she came to the conclusion that he had not noticed anything amiss, and she knew he was not listening— just looking. She nerved herself to read on.

Her voice droned on, page after page turned, and occasionally the Duke glanced anxiously at the small clock on the dressing table. Then he noticed that her speech was beginning to drawl, to become blurred and thick. He smiled a trifle. She was reading herself to sleep— as he had planned. He had no intention of going to sleep till he knew the fate of the Shrimp.

Florence nodded, and shook her head to keep Morpheus at bay. She read on haltingly, but Morpheus was not to be denied.... Her head fell forward, and rested on the edge of the bed.

The Duke smiled. "Sleep, little girl," he said softly. "You are beginning to show signs of the strain, and that is. nothing to, wonder at when a hothouse flower is treated so roughly. How sorry, I am that I cannot release you, but I cannot— it is beyond my power to do so. You are like the orchid— safer in your shelter. We must protect you and save you for the arms of some good man where you will be happy." Very softly he touched her hair and stroked it caressingly. "You are the greatest prize— the greatest loot that I ever held— and the only one I will be reluctant to let go— some time."

But the little flower was not asleep— she was wide awake— shamming.

Chapter 23

The Twist

MOONEY walked up the steps of the police station, and entered the charge-room thoughtfully. He was puzzled.

He nodded to the desk sergeant and threw himself on a chair lazily.

"No good?" said the sergeant.

"No good," echoed Mooney in a droning voice.

"Anything happen?" asked the sergeant.

"Everything," replied Mooney drowsily, "but the right thing. I am just wondering how to frame my report. Although— well, I have an idea I have not finished to-night. I am banking on that idea. That was the reason I came away— to give them an apparently 'open go' for their next move."

The phone on the desk rang with two insistent whirrs. Mooney lifted his head as the sergeant picked up the receiver.

"Hello... Yes... Inspector Mooney? Yes. Here."

Mooney had the receiver out of the sergeant's hand before that worthy had finished speaking.

"Mooney here," said the inspector. "That you, Fisher— what's wrong?"

"I don't exactly know," Fisher's voice, speaking softly, came to him. "I am ringing from the hall-phone. A while ago the library light went out for a moment, but nothing happened. Then, later, we thought we heard noises and voices upstairs. They seem to come from the room the Snail was in. What shall we do?"

"Go up and investigate at once," snapped Mooney, "and go armed. I shall be with you in a few moments— as soon as I can."

Mooney jerked the receiver on to its hook and rushed from the station. McCarthy was standing by a police car saying good-night to the driver, who was a pal of his. At the appearance of their superior officer the chauffeur let in his clutch and the car commenced to move.

"Wait on," cried Mooney. "I want you both. Hop in, McCarthy. Where's Thompson?"

"Gone home," said McCarthy. "You said in the car coming down they could go."

"All right, It doesn't matter. Drive like the deuce to Acton's house. There's something doing, and I want to get there in time to prevent it or be in it."

THE SHRIMP, flattened in the cubbyhole, heard Razor's words distinctly and he summed up the situation at once. The Snail had disclosed his hiding-place! He edged the panel back a trifle, and then, noticing that the light in the room was out he pushed the panel right back and stepped out, closing the panel behind him. He guessed men were crouched in the darkness before him, so he slid sidewise along the wall of the room— continuing until he reached the door.

"It's me," he whispered to Razor, and pushed past him.

By that time the detectives had recovered from their surprise, and were beginning to understand that the darkness was just as useful to them as the intruder. Fisher planned a move.

"What's the game?" he asked.

"Keep still or you'll find out," Razor said curtly. "If I hear anyone moving I shall switch on the light and let go with both guns. Throw your guns over here."

For a few seconds the men in the doorway whispered. Then across the room the Snail shivered a trifle as the Shrimp began to speak icily.

"Listen, Snail, you miserable skunk, you made a more personal enemy of me tonight— a very personal one. Remember that. I am going to have that odd ear. Good night."

"Grab him— shoot him!" squealed the Snail, more frightened than he had been since one memorable night when he met a man with a razor. "Switch on the light! For God's sake do something."

The slam of the door was his answer, and almost at once the detectives were pulling at the handle. It was locked, and they spent some seconds tugging frenziedly.

"Switch on the light!" repeated Snail.

Fisher cursed, and did so.

"If only Mooney would come," he said, turning his back on the shaking forms of Kleve and the Snail. "He should be here now. He―"

Fisher paused and grasped at Tucker's arm. Running footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs.

"They are coming up," Tucker said. "It's Mooney— they must have got them."

Someone banged on the panels of the door.

"Open the door," cried Fisher. "Let us out."

"Is that you, Fisher?" cried Mooney's voice.

"Yes, let us out," Fisher replied.

"I cannot," Mooney answered. "There is no key in the lock."

"Just what they would do to gain time, the swines," the Snail snarled. "Smash it in, then."

"Right!" answered Mooney. "Stand the out of the way."

Tucker and Fisher stepped back, and a moment later the door went crashing towards them, the burly forms of Mooney and McCarthy staggering behind it.

When Mooney regained his balance he swept his eyes over the room until they came to rest on Tucker.

"Now!" he barked. "What the hell is wrong?"

"Haven't you got them— the two men?" Tucker asked excitedly.

"Two men— which two men?"

"The two men who locked us in a moment before you came up the stairs. They must be about somewhere— they held us up and―"

"Come on, then," cried Mooney. "Talk later. We must catch them first."

The four detectives left the room in a hurry and the Snail listened to them stumbling down the stairs.

"My heaven!" said Kleve. "What a nice quiet place this is."

The detectives could be heard tramping about downstairs. Then, suddenly, the Snail gasped.

The panel in the wall was opening. It pushed right back and the Shrimp stepped out. The Snail cowered back.

"It is time we were leaving, Razor," the Shrimp said to a figure crouched beneath the bed.

Chapter 24

French Leave

"NOT yet," Razor answered. "We had better let them get away first, had we not?"

"No," said the Shrimp. "Give them time to think and they will realise the trick we played on them and that you whispered to me that you overheard the phone message and guessed that Mooney was right behind us. Better to fight out in the open and escape if we can while they are in the grounds. There are not many of 'em now, either."

Razor crawled forth, and the Shrimp turned to the Snail, who drew further back instinctively.

"And as for you, you wretched shelf," the Shrimp hissed, "you know I mean what I say. I am going to have your odd ear, and if you raise an alarm now I shall have your nose as well. You have not seen us, understand, and you do not know us, either. Good night. Come on, Razor."

The two stepped over the broken door and silently passed from the sight of the paralysed Snail and Kleve.

"That was clever," said Kleve with a sigh of relief.

"Clever!" rasped the Snail. "They are devils— not men "

Razor and the Shrimp went carefully down the stairs. They could hear the detectives moving about In the back of the house, looking for open windows or themselves. They guessed one or two of them would also be in the grounds They crossed the library and traversed the hall. At the open front door they paused.

The Shrimp pushed his head around the edge. The police car was standing about twenty yards away and it was empty. Evidently the driver had been recruited for the search. The Shrimp smiled and drew Lash's silent revolver, which he had reloaded. Then he cast his eyes over the porch walls until they rested on the object they sought— the main switchboard of the house, where it nestled amongst its meters high up on the wall.

"Be ready," he whispered to Razor. "Run for the car and hide behind it."

Then he raised the gun. There was a "plop" and one of the porcelain fuse cups flew to splinters. Every light in the house immediately went out.

"Run!" whispered the Shrimp, suiting the action to the word.

They flew silently down the steps and along the drive. A moment later they were hidden behind the car.

"Who put out the lights?" they heard Mooney shout. "They must be still in the house. Use your torches and fire at every suspicious shadow."

Two detectives came tearing round a corner of the house, rushed up the stairs, and vanished into the darkness of the doorway.

"Now's our chance!" said the Shrimp, and scrambled into the driver's seat of the car. Then he swore softly.

"What's wrong?" asked Razor, crouched on the step.

"He has locked the car and taken the key," the Shrimp said. "I should have guessed."

He straightened in his seat, and then slid downwards to the floor. A man had appeared in the doorway, and his figure showed up dimly against the dark background of the inside of the house.

"Wait a moment," the man cried. "I shall bring the car up and shine the headlights through the door and on the switchboard."

He ran swiftly down the steps and turned towards the car, pulling at his keys as he went.

"Quiet!" hissed the Shrimp from the floor.

The constable was a young and enthusiastic officer, and he almost fell into the car in his eagerness to do something. He grasped at the door handle, and then gurgled as two huge hands shot up from below and held his throat with a grip of steel. He felt his head swimming dizzily from the pressure, and he struggled to free himself. His struggles lasted for only a few moments, however, and then all the world was blacked out to him. Luckily for the Shrimp— and he was entitled to a little luck— none of the detectives had come to the door of the house during the struggles of the constable.

The Shrimp moved one hand from the young officer's throat and with it took the bunch of keys, which were still clasped in his hand. Then he lowered the man to the ground, and pushed him away from the wheels.

He slipped back into the driving seat and placed the car-key in the lock. He knew that the starting of the car would cause no alarm, as the detectives would think it was their confrere.

"Hang on," he said to Razor. A moment later the machine jumped forward, and, rapidly gaining speed, dashed into the night.

It was not even challenged.

A few moments later the Shrimp spoke again. "You had better climb in, Razor. It looks suspicious. I wonder what Mooney will have to say when he finds the car gone and the driver lying asleep."

"I can make a guess at some of the words," Razor chuckled as he scrambled into the tonneau.

They climbed from the car two blocks away from Number One and proceeded to the house on foot. Razor put his hand on the bell.

"Don't ring," said the Shrimp. "The Duke may be asleep. I have a key— go quietly."

Almost silently the two entered the house and went along the passage to where the light streamed from the Duke's bedroom. The Shrimp reached the door first and paused.

"A pretty picture," he said softly. "And a 'silent.'"

The Duke was indeed asleep— his head lay back on the pillow and the expression on his face was as peaceful as a child's. The girl was also asleep, her head resting on her arm, a book in her lap, her slim body hunched up in the chair in a position which looked most uncomfortable. But it was, nevertheless, as the Shrimp had said, "a pretty picture."

And Razor, pausing also in the doorway, looked— and sighed.

Chapter 25

The Luck Changes

THE police had just gone and the Snail was ruminating savagely on Mooney's parting words.

"There's some damned funny things gone on here to-night, Acton," Mooney had said. "Some damned funny things, and although I have no evidence to connect you criminally with them, you know what I think. One of my men was shot, two of them were clubbed and one half-strangled, and I am not going to let that pass unnoticed. You know something about it— all about it— but I know you of old and I am not going to waste my time asking you questions. But I'll tell you straight, Acton, that I am out to get you— and I will!"

So the Snail had cause to think. He glanced over to where Kleve was slumped down in a low chair industriously chewing his nails.

"Well, Dutchy," he said, "what do you think we ought to do?"

"Do!" said Kleve, lifting his head and looking at the Snail squarely. "I think we ought to get out while the getting is good."

"Oh, you do, do you?" the Snail said coldly. "And why, please?"

"Well, if you want to know my reasons, here they are. In the first place, you have made enough to do you for a few years— the rest of your life if you are not too extravagant. Secondly, the police are on to you— you know what they came here for tonight— and Mooney has vowed to get you. Then, last, but far from least, there is the Duke— he is too good, too clever for us. We have tried to beat him— every way— and been beaten. He and his men appear and disappear— there may be some in this room even now."

The Snail glanced quickly and nervously about, and- then, ashamed of his fear, he let forth his passions on his hapless lieutenant.

"Listen!" he snarled. "I'll answer your reasons, as you call them, one by one. First, my dear Mister Yellow Kleve, the only way my money will last me for the rest of my life is for me to die tomorrow. I have not sufficient money to carry me on a month— I am almost broke. These jobs lately have cost me money— and the Duke has been taking the profits— all the takings. Secondly, the police have been after me and on to me for years and years— I have been Mooney's pet worry for the last Ave years-and they have not got me yet nor are they likely to. And as for the Duke and his cleverness— I am not dead yet, and far from finished. Do you think I am going to lose my ear and swag, and grin and bear it? Bah! I admit he has beaten me this time, but his luck will not hold out forever— and just about now it is going to change. I, the Snail, I will change it."

He paused for breath and Kleve curled his lip a trifle. The expression further angered the Snail.

"You think they are empty boasts!" he almost shouted. "My God, you white-livered cur, I wish I was well— I would send you in bits to the Duke as a sample of what's in store for him."

Kleve bit his lip and went pale.

"You are scared stiff, that is what is wrong with you!" the Snail continued, viciously. "The best thing you can do is what you said— get while the getting is good. You are no use to me in the condition you are in-a blue funk. If the Duke is so damned clever, get to him— he will protect you— Like hell. Before a month is out I shall have all his gang— and you— in a few dozen paper bags— cat's meat. Go on— get. Why don't you run to him now?"

Kleve moved uncomfortably. "Don't be silly," he said. "I never lose my head, anyhow. I always thought you had such a slow, sure brain, too. The men have never seen you like this. They might like to hear about it— about how the Duke upset you. It seems I am not the only one."

The Snail growled deep in his throat, opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and gulped back the words. Kleve was right— he was losing his head— showing the Duke had unnerved him. He lapsed into thought, and Kleve scanned his fingernails for one long enough to bite.

There was silence for some moments before the Snail spoke again. He lifted his head, looked round the room and leaned towards Kleve.

"Shut that window and come closer, Dutchy," he said, softly. "I have thought it all out— we must win this time."

Kleve, glad of the Snail's change of tone, closed the window-though the Snail had been shouting before with the window wide open-and drew the chair to the bedside.

"Listen," began the Snail. "They have got the girl. All right. I am going to let her back and they are going to hand her to me. Get that? Hand her to me. All I need is a lever to force them."

"They would never do it," said Kleve. "There is no lever powerful enough."

"There is one," the Snail said, and chuckled grimly.

"What is it?"

"Her father!"

The frown on Kleve's face faded, and he smiled. "My God, you are right!" he said.

"Why not get the old man himself?" the Snail went on, gloatingly. "Change him for the girl and the ransom is ours. But we won't change him, see? We keep both the prize and the lever— two prizes. I am going to play one last hand— a million pounds and the Duke and his gang the stakes."

"But say if the Duke takes her father from us?''

"I shall make sure he does not do it this time— once in the mine and expecting visitors— we were too cocksure before— and I shall defy the world to get him out."

"But getting the girl and her father will not get the Duke," Kleve demurred.

"Maybe not, but I have another plan, several plans. We have under-estimated the Duke, Dutchy-he is too cunning for the gang— even too cunning for me. But there is one man more cunning than even he!"

"Who?" asked Kleve.

"Who is the most wily, cunning crook you know?" asked the Snail in turn. "Who is the man who never fails, who is more determined than we can ever hope to be?"

Kleve thought only a second. The description was so apt. His eyes glowed.

"Ling Chang!" he exclaimed.

"Ling Chang," echoed the Snail. "And that sweet child, his alleged daughter, Mo Hung."

"My God, we shall get him yet!" Kleve said, striking the arms of his chair. "Chang never fails. He will know of better places to hide them. This is the Duke's finish. We shall―"

He paused. The Snail's only visible eye was fixed on the broken door, which had been roughly propped back into place.

It was moving!

Kleve's hand went to his hip, but the pocket was empty. The door moved a little further, slowly and silently. Then a head came cautiously round its edge.

"Lash!" said Kleve, and the two men relaxed thankfully.

Lash took a careful look round the room, and then stepped inside.

"Gawd!" he said. "I've had an 'ell of a time, been knocked rotten, chased be the jacks and everythink— an 'ell of a time."

"How did you get in?" asked the Snail.

"Forced a back winder. I wasn't game to come in the front. 'Ave the jacks all gone?"

"Yes. Where is Skinny?"

"Gawd knows! Yer see, I was knocked out. The next thing I knows is the jacks is after me— scone 'ot. I leaps a few fences and 'ides on someone's back veranda roof till they'd finished searchin'. Then I starts to come back and I sees some funny things. I sees the Shrimp, but I had no gun-I think the swine had it hisself. So I waits and watches. An' you'd never guess— you know that empty joint next door?"

"Yes," said the Snail, eagerly.

"Well," said Lash, "that seems ter belong ter the Duke."

"My God!" gasped the Snail. "What a fool I have been! Go on."

"Well, I sees Razor arrive, and him and the Shrimp goes inside. Later they leaves and I waits till the police come and go again, an' I busts the place and looks round. I finds a few things. There's two 'phones on there— an ordinary one and one the wires of which run under the floor towards your garden. I think it is connected to here."

The Snail swore. "What an idiot I am!"

"Then," continued Lash, "I notices a trap-door in one of the rooms. It was well made, but seemed the last ones to use it had been in an 'urry, 'cos they had not closed it properly. Down below was a small vault, and in it was the four bags from the Trent job and a bundle of papers. I brought 'em over here and they're downstairs now."

The Snail was sitting up now-intent and eager. Beneath his bandages he was smiling— if it could be called a smile.

"The luck has changed," he said, gleefully. "Here is our first sign. The Duke is doomed. And that house— what a trap! My faith, what a trap!"

Chapter 26

Ling Chang― Miser

THE SHOP was small and mean-looking in keeping with the street, which was narrow, short and dirty. Above the shop was an old battered sign which told anyone who cared to decipher it that Ling Chang was an importer of Chinese goods. Behind the counter of the shop a Chinese youth was industriously unpacking preserved ginger. A door at the back of the shop opened and an old man entered the shop. He was a little man, and he was attired in a bowler hat and a rather disreputable European suit, though his face was unmistakably Oriental. It was a smug, contented face— almost too benign and bland. This was the proprietor of the shop, Ling Chang, the most dangerous character in the underworld. Some said he was all brain— it was certain that he had never shown any evidence that he possessed a heart. He was cruel, relentless, and unscrupulous, and all he lived for were money and his dream-pipe. He was a miser, and the money-lust was even greater than his love of life, as he would often risk his life for a few shillings— if risk there must be. With him. Mammon had replaced Buddha.

"Has the taxi the Snail promised to send arrived yet?" he asked the youth, with only a trace of accent.

"No, honourable master," the youth replied. "Will you be away long?"

"Not long, only a friendly visit," Chang said, blandly. "The Snail has met with a slight accident. I go to pay my respects."

A taxi drew up at the door and Chang crossed the pavement and entered it.

"You know where to go?" he asked the driver.

The driver nodded and the car moved forward. Shortly afterwards it pulled up before the high gate of the Snail's home and Chang alighted.

"You will wait," he said to the driver, with a gesture of "I- don't- care- how- much- you- charge," which was easy for him to make as he was not paying the bill. Chang was always generous with someone else's money.

Slowly he walked up the path. It was mid-afternoon of the day after the police raid and Chang enjoyed the sunlight, and wondered how much he could raise on the flowers which grew in profusion all about him. Then he rang the doorbell.

A few minutes later he was ushered into the Snail's bedroom. The Snail was alone. Chang had not removed his hat, a thing he was seldom seen to do. He bowed and waited until the servant's footsteps had died away down the stairs. Then he spoke.

"Well, honourable sir," he said, softly. "You wanted to see me-about the Duke."

The Snail had removed some of his bandages and was sitting up in bed.

"Yes," he said. "How did you know what it was about?"

"Chang has ears and eyes and spies," the Chinaman said, blandly.

"Pull a chair up," the Snail said, and when Chang had obeyed, "I want you to help me. I own myself defeated— nearly."

"And the payment for my humble services?" Chang queried.

"Will be— if you carry my wishes to fruition— a quarter of a million pounds!" the Snail said, impressively.

The bland smile never changed, but the slit eyes narrowed a trifle.

"That is well— very well," Chang said. "Express your wishes and they shall be granted."

The Snail smiled. "I have confidence in you," he said, "but it will not be nearly as easy as you imagine. I will tell you exactly what I wish to do and exactly how things stand to date."

He began far back-with the first time the Duke interfered, and covered the history right up to the night before, concluding with Lash's discovery.

"So you see, the Duke is clever and up to every trick," he ended. "The position is this— he has the girl, but I have discovered that house next door and can use it to trap him."

"Did you put the bags back?" Chang asked, speaking for the first time since the Snail began his story.

"No. Why should I?"

"You should have done so," Chang responded. "Can you not see that now the house is useless as a trap? When they find the money gone they will at once guess that you know their secret."

The Snail frowned. "That is correct," he said. "I never thought of that. You certainly can use your head, Chang. I will put them back empty."

"Empty would be useless," Chang remarked. "They would be sure to examine them."

"Then I will post men in the house tonight to shoot them as they enter."

"No," said Chang. "That would be foolish. You would get only one lesser member of the gang perhaps. Would it not be better to go to the room where you traced the 'phone— the library, I think you said it was— and discuss your plans when you think they have someone listening? You can discuss some made-up plans, lead them astray and then trap the whole gang in an ambush. That is one way. I have many, many plans already rapidly forming in my mind. Listen and I shall speak."

It was over an hour later when the taxi-driver was aroused from a daydream by the return of Chang.

"To my shop," said Chang as he climbed in.

The car pulled away from the kerb and sped down the road.

IN A HOUSE across the road from the Snail's house a man drew back from the window and went to a telephone in the hall. In a few minutes he was speaking to his superior officer, Inspector Mooney.

"Acton has had a visitor," he said. "Quite openly, too, this one was. At ten to three Ling Chang arrived in a taxi and went into the house. He left at five past four."

"Sure it was Ling Chang?" asked Mooney.

"Certain. I cover his district and the car waited in the street and did not go up the drive."

"Righto, McCarthy. Thanks. Let me know anything further. I will send someone to relieve you at six."

Half-an-hour later Inspector Mooney entered Ling Chang's mean shop.

"Boss in?" he said to the youth behind the counter.

The youth knew a detective when he saw one— in fact, he knew this one well.

"I will see," he said.

"It is all right," Mooney said in a bored tone. "I shall see myself."

He lounged towards the door at the back of the shop, and the youth pressed a small button beneath the counter without appearing to do more than lean over it.

Mooney opened the door, stepped through it and closed it behind him. He was in a storeroom, piled high with cases of tea and fireworks, cane-baskets and other things. At its farther side was another door, which opened as Mooney was crossing the storeroom.

"Who comes?" asked Chang, blinking across the room.

"Only me," said Mooney. "How's business?"

Chang smiled blandly. "It is my honourable friend, Mr. Mooney," he said, not in the least disturbed by the visit. "Come in and have a cup of tea. Business is bad."

Chang stepped aside and Mooney leisurely entered the poorly-furnished room. It held only three chairs, a threadbare couch, a battered table, a cupboard and a small stove. The floor was bare. Some stairs ran from one corner to the sleeping quarters above.

Mooney dropped on a rickety chair with his usual listlessness. The chair groaned under his weight.

"So business is bad, eh?" he said, with a yawn. "Nothing doing in the way of white slaves, smuggling Chinks or opium in or a little fencing, eh?"

"Mister Mooney!" Chang said, reproachfully. "Ha, ha! You will have your joke. You know I never do anything bad like that. I would be in prison if I did."

"That's where you should be," Mooney murmured, drowsily. "However, I have not come to talk about that. Where is Mo Hung?"

"She is out. I don't know where. You know what girls are— they go and come as they please nowadays. Not like in China when I was young. I remember once my exalted father―"

Mooney considered the question of Chang's craftiness as he broke in. Chang would not tell a lie as to Mo Hung's whereabouts, knowing that lies can be found out.

"Um-hum," Mooney interrupted. "Let's get down to business. Would you like to earn a lot of money?"

"How much and how?"

"There was a robbery at Trent and Company's Emporium last night. They offer five hundred pounds for information as to the perpetrators. Now if I could only get something worth while for a lead "

He paused suggestively, but Chang simply smiled blandly.

"You know," Mooney went on, as though speaking to himself, "it is the practice, in big stores for the shop-assistants to write the numbers of all pound-notes received on the cash docket. So Trents know the number of every note stolen. Whoever brought off the robbery did not consider that. Now if I could lay my hand on that money while it was in someone's possession I would be pleased and you could earn five hundred pounds."

"I wish I could," Chang said, "but I do not know one thing about it."

Mooney leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.

"I shall make it a thousand," he said. "I shall give you a thousand pounds if you will tell me all that Acton told you to-day."

The Oriental still smiled. Mooney was watching his old, half-closed eyes, but he failed to detect any change of expression.

"You are trying to frighten me, Mr. Mooney," he said, evenly. "It was simply a friendly visit. I have known Mr. Acton a long time— I knew his father. I heard he had been hurt, and I went out to inquire as to his health. That was all."

"In a taxi he chartered," Mooney said, dryly. "Very good of him to spend money so that you could inquire as to his health. How did he get hurt?"

"He was most unfortunate," Chang said, sympathetically. "While shaving his hand slipped and sliced his ear."

"Some slip!" Mooney said. "All right, Chang. He must be offering you big stakes in whatever game you are playing. You have been of assistance to us in the past. I have never known you turn down sure money before. You know, Chang, that Acton is a criminal and that there is such a thing as a consorting law. What if I were to take you now? What if I were to let it get about that you were a 'shelf,' eh? A pimp who would sacrifice any friend to the police for the sake of the few pounds blood money he received?"

Chang shrugged. "You would not do that, Mr. Mooney," he said. "That would be breaking your word— and perhaps you might need my assistance again and find it not available. But really, I know nothing of the Snail. I think he has had enough and is going straight now. I may find out something and then I will let you know. I might have information within a few days."

Mooney rose. "All right, Chang," he said. "All right. But, remember this— if you are playing in with the Snail, look out. That is all. Look out! There is a war between the Snail and me— and I think some of his own gang has turned on him— on now. The war is on, and if you have any sense, keep out of it."

He walked to the door.

"Would you care for a cup of tea?" asked Chang, softly. His only answer was the slam of the door.

A few minutes later a girl entered the room by the back door. She was small and dainty— and very pretty. She was half-white, half-Chinese, and had all the beauty— and wickednesses— of the two colours. She was Mo Hung-Chang's adopted daughter and his greatest ally.

"Well," he said, "did you get him?"

"I rang him, adored one," the girl said. "I told him I was a member of the gang that had his daughter-that I had been thrown out for taking pity on her, and that I wanted the reward. He will meet me at eleven tonight— alone."

"And you," said Chang, chuckling, "will not be there— to meet— Mooney. Ling Chang's methods are never crude and never what is expected. You may kiss me."

Chapter 27

The Watchers

"WHAT time did you get the 'phone message?" Mooney asked the millionaire.

Montague went to his desk and pulled a scribbling block towards him.

"It was at four thirty-five," he said. "I jotted it down because I thought you might ask that question."

"Four thirty-five," Mooney said thoughtfully. "So that's where Mo Hung was. What exactly did she say?"

"She said as soon as I picked up the receiver, 'You do not know me— I was a member of the organisation that kidnapped your daughter. I took pity on her and they threw me out. Now I want revenge and the reward. Will you meet me tonight at the corner of Marcus and Wright Streets in your own suburb at eleven o'clock? I can give you valuable information. It would be better not to inform the police yet awhile, as the gang has spies, and if they find I have been a traitor they may kill me and— your daughter. Will you do as I ask?' 'Yes,' I replied. 'How will I know you?' 'You be there at eleven,' she said. 'I know you and will make myself known. Remember, be alone.' 'All right,' I replied, and she rang off. I rang the station at once."

"I wonder what, the idea is," Mooney mused

"Will I go?" asked Montagu.

"Of course," replied Mooney. "We cannot allow any chances to pass us. With some of my men I will be posted in the vicinity of the corner. It would be useless to grab the girl— I could lay my hands on her now, and she would never talk. We shall shadow her— and you, if she takes you with her."

Montagu nodded. "That seems a good plan," he said.

THE DUKE was sitting in his lounge, and it seemed that it was his day "at home," for the room was fairly crowded. Spread around, some sitting, some standing, were seven other men-the Shrimp, Morry, the Rose, Razor, Tom, Peter, and Mossy. It was five o'clock.

"How's the head, Mossy?" the Duke asked.

Mossy touched the bandages lightly and smiled ruefully.

"Aches a bit," he said, "but I am quite fit for service."

"Good!" said the Duke. "We need you. We need every man. You know why I have brought you all here tonight. The war is on in earnest. We may end it tonight. I hope to, although I had not meant to. I wished to give the Snail still more trouble, but matters have been brought to a head. You all know the events of last night— our great pal, Irish, passed on and I was slightly wounded. Mossy was hurt the night before. The police went very close to capturing some of us— particularly the Shrimp. We are getting a bit too close to the wind, so must end everything as soon as possible and break up. I had meant to have a few days' rest owing to the wound, and because we all need a rest, but that is impossible. Are you all ready?"

The men nodded, some grimly, some eagerly.

"All right," the Duke went on. "Now for our plans. First, what do you know? You, Morry."

A very dark, square-built young -man rose from an armchair.

"After Peter brought Irish to us and as soon as I could I went back to the listening-post. It was just before dawn when I reached it and I went carefully— expecting the police to be watching the Snail's house, and if they saw me at that hour they would naturally become suspicious. So I entered a house a few doors up and crossed the fences. As I dropped into the backyard of our house I thought I caught a flicker of light from within the house. I hid in the yard and waited to make sure. It did not take me long to see that someone was in there with a torch. My first impulse was to grab or shoot whoever was using the torch, but as. I waited I thought differently. It might be a policeman. If it happened to be one of the Snail's men it would be better to let him get away-we could always get him later— carry his information to the Snail, so that the Snail would think the house would be a trap for us, but knowing, we might be able to turn the knowledge to account."

"Clever boy!" said the Duke. "No wonder I beat the Snail with a crowd like mine. Go on. Who was inside?"

"Lash. He locked the window he had entered by after leaving four bags and a bundle in the yard and left the house by the front door slamming it after him so as to leave no sign that the house had been entered. Then he took the bags and bundle into the Snail's house, forcing a back window to do so. I was on the roof of the back veranda."

"Why did you not use the roof of the Snail's garages?" asked the Shrimp. "They are the handiest things he has."

"I then entered our house," went on Morry, "and watched and listened an hour ago. Nothing worth mentioning happened. The 'phone wire had not been cut, though I saw Kleve and Lash fossicking about and I think they have traced the wire to its end. About midday, Kleve and Lash left. I think Mooney has a watcher in a house opposite, as I saw a front curtain move suspiciously a couple of times. About three o'clock Ling Chang arrived in a taxi and―"

"Ling Chang!" broke in the Duke. "Phew!"

"He left after four," continued Morry. "I was going to 'phone you at once, but knowing the meeting was on to-night I decided to keep the news till now in case the wire was tapped. I left at four-thirty."

"You have done well, Morry," the Duke said. "You, Shrimp, and you, Razor, were asleep all day. You, Mossy, were sick—  Oh, before we go any further, Razor, I want to thank you very much for the doctoring you did to my side. It was scientifically done and I am afraid to disturb it."

"I cannot very well accept the thanks, Duke," Razor said with a smile. "I did not do it. You must thank Miss Montagu."

"Miss Montagu!" the Duke said with a stare.

"Yes, she did it— she has a slight knowledge of nursing."

The Duke smiled. "The minx!" he said. "She told me it was you. Well, to business. Now we come to the Rose. Any news?"

A very tall young man grinned and crossed his legs, and leaned his thin frame forward. He had obtained his nickname when he was a child— a pitiful little guttersnipe who had never been cared for, as his parents were heaven knew where. Left to his own resources— with only a younger sister in the world— and with the average child's distaste for soap and water it was no wonder he had acquired a smell all his own. Thus the ironical nickname— "the Rose." And though the necessity for the nickname had long since passed the name stuck, as he had never been known as anything else. And, as if to make up for lost time, the Rose— now a young man— was uncommonly cleanly. He was also quite alone now, as his sister had been dead some months.

"I 'ave a little," he said. "I went down to the Madras about midday. There wasn't many there, but there was some talk floatin' around. A sheilah I know told me that the district is surging with rumours of the war. She is a pal of  Mike's— the Snail's man— and evidently 'e's been doin' a bit of blowin' with 'is mouth. Told 'er what 'im an' the Snail an' Ling Chang was goin' ter do ter the Duke. She was sure you'd be in their 'ands be termorrer. That's all."

"Not much news there," said the Duke.

"Well, Peter?"

"After coming to see you this morning," Peter began- at once, "I went, according to your orders, to watch the Snail's house. When Ling Chang went into the Snail's house I decided the best thing to do— as I knew Morry was watching the house— -would be to beat Ling Chang back to his place. I went there and watched the shop from the corner pub. Soon after Chang returned Mo Hung left the shop and I followed her. She went on a tram for a section— evidently to get away from the vicinity of the shop. She does not know me, so I was on the same tram. On alighting she went to a public 'phone box and rang up. I could not get close enough to hear what she said. It was too dangerous to follow her back. I came here."

"I wonder who she rang up," mused the Duke. "Well, Tom?"

Tom was a very small, serious-faced man over middle-age, and a most insignificant-looking specimen of respectable citizen. It was this innocent-seeming look which was his greatest asset. He was quarter Chinese, though his face did not disclose the fact.

"Had a snoop round the Snail's mine," he began in a jerky way. "Nothing doin' there, so I did as you said, and hung around the police station till I picked up Mooney. He went to Ling Chang's for a while, and when he left he did not seem too pleased. Then back to the police station. Soon after he is out again— gets a car and away for the lick of his life. Lucky I had the car or I would never have kept him. He pulls up at Montagu's and dashes inside. I came straight on here."

"Um!" said the Duke. "Mo Hung rings up— Montagu sends for Mooney. I'm beginning to see. Well, that only helps out my plans. There is work for all of you tonight— fight and danger. I know I can depend on all of you. Now— to work."

He began to talk softly and swiftly. The men drew slowly closer.

In the middle of a sentence the Duke stopped, lifted his head and listened.

A soft knock sounded on the door. The Shrimp went swiftly to the door and opened it. Florence stepped into the room, robed in the Duke's dressing gown.

"I have been sitting at the front window," she said shakily. "In the dark. I saw two men across the road— they seemed to be watching the house. Then they went up the street. I did not wish to disturb you, so I went to the back. One of them just climbed the back fence!"

Chapter 28

Tom Listens In

"GOOD GIRL," said the Shrimp. "Come on, Tom and Rose. Two of you go out the front and down the side."

"Useful girl," said the Duke, and she smiled wickedly.

The three men went down the passage, while Morry and Peter turned up the passage towards the front door. The Shrimp approached the back door carefully and silently, Tom and the Rose behind him. At the door he paused and placed his ear to the panels. He held up his finger warningly while he listened. It seemed to him that someone was moving about cautiously on the back veranda. He waited-to give Morry and Peter a chance to get down the sideway. It would be useless to capture one man if the other escaped.

The Shrimp grasped the key and the handle.

A voice in the yard was heard— Morry's voice: "Stand where you are!"

At once the Shrimp turned the key and handle and threw the door wide.

A man was crouched on the step— his back towards them— looking down the yard to where Morry had another man held up in a corner. The door opened so swiftly that the man fell backward— to be immediately pinioned by the Shrimp and his friends. He struggled violently but in vain. In a few moments he had been deprived of his weapons and was yanked to his feet in the firm grip of Tom and the Rose. The Shrimp switched on the passage light.

The prisoner was a Chinaman!

"Righto, Morry," the Shrimp called. "Bring him in."

A few seconds later Peter and Morry entered with their prisoner— another Chinaman.

"He was hiding in a dark corner of the yard," Morry remarked. "We pretended we did not see him. Peter drew his attention by approaching the veranda, giving me the opportunity to surprise him."

"Bring 'em in to the Duke," the Shrimp said, and the men were led into the lounge.

They blinked at the room full of men, but their faces remained void of expression.

"Some of Ling Chang's friends," the Duke remarked, and then turned to the girl. "You have been so useful to us as a lookout, Miss Montagu, that I would be pleased if you would continue to act in that capacity. If you see anything suspicious let us know at once."

She nodded seriously and left the room. As soon as the door closed behind her the smile was wiped from the Duke's face. He turned swiftly to the two Chinamen who were standing in the centre of the room-their eyes darting in all directions.

"They say Chinamen never talk," he said. "I say that most men of any race can be made to talk. I am going to torture you-brand you and burn you if you do not tell me all you know at once. Will you talk?"

"No savvy," one of the Chinamen answered.

"Lock them up in the spare room," the Duke said. "You stay in there to guard them, Tom, while we prepare the torture."

The Chinamen were led out to another room and made to sit down. Tom took a revolver from his pocket, and leaned against the closed door idly scanning it while he smoked.

Back in the lounge, the Duke made no preparations for torture. He went on elaborating his plans.

The Chinamen sat quiet and surly for some time, glancing a little nervously about them. Then one growled a few words to the other in the peculiar halting language, which is a mixture of all the Chinese dialects, and is universally used in countries other than their own.

Tom— whose grandfather was a full-blooded Chinaman— understood the language very well, but he made no sign as he interpreted the words.

"You are a fool— we should have informed Ling Chang immediately we saw the Rose enter this house."

"What was the use?" the other Chinaman answered. "We were posted to watch the Rose and report anything of value we saw. You know how annoyed Chang is if we make a mistake. Just because the Rose enters a house is no reason to suppose the Duke is inside— we had to find out first."

"Ling Chang will not look on it like that— he will be mad when he learns we have been caught. He wanted us to be at the millionaire's house tonight. He will punish us."

"If we are alive," the second Chinaman replied gloomily. "The Duke will torture us and maybe we will die— unless we talk."

"If we talk Ling Chang will torture us. We were fools we did not let him know where we were. We were fools to get caught, and being double-dyed fools we must expect to go to our ancestors and the Terrace of Night."

The other nodded gloomily. "That is so," he said. "We can only pray."

He took a brass idol from his pocket, and sat it on the floor, and he. and his companion— began to go through the long ceremony of those about to die.

A knock sounded on the door and Tom opened it. The Chinese took no notice.

"It is all right," Tom whispered to the Shrimp, who was outside. "They trailed the Rose here, and did not inform Ling Chang of their whereabouts. The place is safe so long as they are kept here. There is something on at Montagu's tonight."

"We will truss them up and leave Mossy on guard," the Shrimp said. "Come on— the war is on again."

Chapter 29

Lash Laughs

IT was a quiet suburb, and the intersection of Marcus and Wright streets was about the most quiet part of it. One corner was a vacant allotment, and the three other corners were occupied by large residences which stood a long distance back from the road.

Although Eugene Montagu knew that police officers lurked in the grounds of some of the homes, and on the vacant piece of ground, he was not without nervousness when he strolled to the corner punctually at eleven o'clock. He need not have been nervous however. An hour passed with no sign of the girl who had 'phoned him— an hour which was a year of misery to the millionaire, tormented by thoughts of his missing daughter.

At fifteen minutes after midnight Mooney rose from his hiding place in the vacant lot, and went to Montagu's side.

"It seems we are wasting our time," he said. "She will not come now."

"Perhaps," Montagu began hesitatingly, "she has been found out and killed- -they might have— oh, I wish I had my daughter here."

"I will send a man down to make inquiries at Ling Chang's," Mooney said. "Maybe she was never meant to turn up— it may have been a trick."

"A trick!" echoed Montagu. "But what would be the use of it?"

"I can't say," said Mooney slowly, "but I have an idea."

"It seems more likely that she has been prevented from coming," the millionaire replied.

"It seems like it," added Mooney. "Anyhow, it will not do any good waiting here. The best thing you can do is go home. I will send men down to Ling Chang's and Acton's hangouts to see what they can learn, and will also send men to watch your home all night."

"Where will you be?" Montagu asked.

"At the station, but in touch with everyone. Now I think we want to move and move quickly. I will say goodnight."

"Can't I stay with you?" Montagu asked.. "This inactivity is killing me. Can't I help?"

"I am sorry," Mooney replied. "We are doing all we can, and I am afraid you would hinder more than help. Good night."

"Good-night," said Montagu, and went down the street- to where his car had been waiting at the next corner. When he reached the corner he looked around amazed. The car was nowhere to be seen!

"That is most peculiar," Montagu thought. "I am sure I told Jones to wait."

Had the millionaire but known it, Jones, his chauffeur, had waited and was still waiting— lying chloroformed in a nearby garden.

The millionaire paused in indecision. Would he walk the few streets to his home without telling Mooney of the disappearance of his car? He may have forgotten to ask Jones to wait, and then again-he may not. It was not safe to take chances.

He started nervously as a man stepped from the shadows— a big man in a heavy overcoat. He stepped to the millionaire's side.

"I am a detective," he said. "One of Inspector Mooney's men. You are wondering where your car is— Inspector Mooney told us to send it home as it might arouse the crooks' suspicions standing there. He ordered me to escort you home."

Montagu breathed again. He saw no reason to doubt the story-it had all the elements of truth, and the man looked like a detective.

"All right," he said. "I shall be pleased to have your company."

They turned down the street together without further conversation. The millionaire was deep in thought. When would he see his daughter again? Would it be soon? Would it be ever? Unconsciously he turned the next corner. He had not taken two steps when he felt a blunt object rammed hard against his ribs.

"Keep quiet," hissed the "detective," "Or I'll blow a hole in you."

Montagu stopped still in dismay.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked.

"It means you are a prisoner," the man answered.

"Are you not a detective?" Montagu asked.

"Hardly," the man replied. "I am just the opposite."

"What good will it do you to capture me?" Montagu said. "No one will ransom me."

"You will learn in good time," the man said. "Wait here and keep quiet― our car will be along in a moment."

The driver must have been on the lookout for them, for even as the man spoke the car came into view— a sedan. Lash was driving. It drew up at the kerb.

The man pushed the millionaire towards the vehicle.

"I got him all right," he said proudly, but Lash never answered.

Instead, a man who was crouched on the opposite step of the car and who had a revolver jammed into Lash's side, rose into view.

"I'm glad of that, Mike," said the Shrimp. "Drop your gun on the footpath."

Mike stiffened. "Gawd!" he ejaculated. "You— you—  You again."

"Me again, Mike," said the Shrimp coolly. "Drop your gun before I drop you."

"Say if I don't," said Mike. "Say if I pull the trigger and kill Montagu?"

"That will not hurt me," the Shrimp replied, "but it would mean your death. Razor has you covered from the car as well as me."

Mike cursed, and the gun clattered to the footpath.

"What is this?" gasped the millionaire. "Are you a policeman?"

"No," replied the Shrimp. "We are just enemies of your enemies, and in a way— so far as it suits us— friends of yours. You will oblige me by stepping into the car. Get out, Lash."

Lash climbed reluctantly from the driving seat and the Shrimp quietly took his place. Razor opened the back door of the car, and stepped out.

"You can get in, Mr. Montagu," he said. While the millionaire was stepping into the car the young man picked up Mike's revolver, and ran his hands over the two men's clothes— relieving them of their weapons.

Then Razor stepped back into the car and the Shrimp let in the clutch.

"Bye-bye," the Shrimp said to the two men. "This seems to be a habit of yours, Mike— giving us your car and going without yourself. It is most unselfish of you. But you see, we want Mr. Montagu to sleep at home to-night. Tell the Snail that the Duke is looking for him and will kill him on sight. That ought to cheer him up."

The car jumped forward and the men watched it till it had turned the next corner.

Then Mike swore— and Lash laughed. "Where is the big joke?" snarled Mike, turning on his companion angrily.

"Joke?" said Lash, still chuckling. "Well, I for one do not think the millionaire will get much sleep at home tonight. Ling Chang was not depending on us alone— he takes no chances. Montagu's joint is just teeming with Chows and our men!''

Chapter 30

EUGENE MONTAGUE'S bedroom was a large upstairs chamber just above his study. Two French-windows opposite
the wide door opened out of it on to a marble balcony, which ran right along the side of the house. The light was not turned on in the room and the moonlight shining through the open French-windows made of it a place of mystic shadows-shadows which were not all still. A new shadow appeared on the floor of the room as a more concrete shape interposed itself between the moonlight and the floor by standing in the windows. This shadow could speak though otherwise it was as silent as any other shadow.

"He has just come home," the shadow hissed in Chinese. "The Snail's men must have missed him. He walked hurriedly up the path and entered the house. He is in the room below, now."

A shadow moved out from the darkness about the bed.

"It is well," this shadow said. "Be ready to act speedily and accurately. The police may be here at any moment."

The shadow at the windows flitted along the balcony and the shadow in the room melted into the darkness around it. Sounds could be heard coming from the room below— slight indistinguishable sounds— but enough to show the waiting shadows that their man was indeed home.

Soon, the sounds ceased; voices could be heard speaking at the foot of the stairs. Someone answered, "Yes sir," quite clearly. Then footsteps began to ascend the stairs.

"Ready!" hissed a voice in the room. "He is coming!"

The handle of the door turned-the door opened and someone could be heard fumbling with the switch. There was no other sound in the room. The switch clicked down, but no light came as the globes in the room had been removed.

"Confound it!" said a voice. "The light will not act."

Two shadows flitted along the wall and paused.

"If you make a sound, you die!" hissed a voice. "Step forward into the room."

"Who is there?" asked the man in the doorway.

"Never mind, Mr. Montagu," came the voice. "Do as you are told and you will come to no harm."

Then, suddenly, the beams of two very powerful electric lamps flashed on  through the doorway— illuminating the room in a blaze of white light.

The man in the doorway was holding a large five-hundred candle power lamp attached to a flexible lead in each hand and behind him stood two men— a gun in each of their hands.

The shadows were blinded by the brilliancy of the lamps so suddenly coming after darkness, and stepped back in surprise, their hands going instinctively to shield their eyes. At once the two men in the smoked glasses behind the one holding the lamps stepped into the room and tore the revolvers from the hands of the men who had been shadows. Before even those men had recovered the two new arrivals had quickly searched the room, dragged a Chinaman from beneath the bed and one who had posted himself beside the French-windows.

Then the man holding the lamp spoke.

"You are supposed to be deuced clever, Ling Chang," he said, "and maybe you are, but, my jolly old sausage, you can not make allowance for everything, can you?"

Ling Chang stepped away from the wall and blinked at the man in the glare.

"You are— the Duke?" he said.

"That is so," the Duke said. "The power of light, old bean, has never been sufficiently exploited. To anyone who has been in the jolly old dark for a time the blinding propensity of one thousand candle-power is most useful. There are two things you have to watch— be sure that the house where you want to use the silly old things is provided with sufficient power— ordinary two-forty will not do— and be more sensible than I and provide yourself with gloves, for the things get dashed hot."

The Duke dragged the flexes under the door and then kicked it shut; crossed the room to an armchair and hung the lamps across its back. Ling Chang made a cautious step towards the door.

"I would advise you to keep still," the Duke remarked without looking round. "You may have heard of the Shrimp and what a dead shot he is. He is sitting on the bed."

Ling Chang threw an anxious glance In the direction of the little man idly swinging his legs from the bed with an armed hand resting on each knee. Then he looked at the figure crouched at the side of the window, watching out with both guns ready, his back to the room. His eyes swept to his two countrymen— one huddled on the floor and one crouched against the wall. It was not an inviting prospect for Ling Chang. Yet his face gradually resumed its old blandness.

"I think, Mister Duke," he said, "you and I would have made great partners— we could have almost owned the world. I did not consider you very clever to defeat the Snail— the Snail is a fool— but now, well, you could not do more than beat him, you did all that was necessary, and so, matched against greater wits, you have also done well. It means trouble for us both if we go against each other, so why cannot you and I get together, wipe out the Snail— and cut up the profits evenly. That suggestion, coming from Ling Chang, is no small compliment."

The Duke dropped on a chair and smiled.

"Jolly decent of you, modest old bean, I am sure," he said. "Very condescending and all that, especially when you come to think of it, that you have all to gain and nothing to lose. The Snail is not a fool— one should never make the mistake of classing one's enemy as a fool. And the Snail will be wiped out when I want him wiped out. What-what! And, Ling, you would be dead now if I did not have a few words to say to you. You see, old chappie, this affair of the Snail and I is a private war. I, personally, have no quarrel with you— and the best advice I can give you is to drop out of it as soon as you can."

Ling Chang did not wish to be eager. For a few moments he appeared lost in thought. Then he smiled again.

"All right, Mister Duke," he said. "I can see when I am beaten. I shall withdraw from the contest-at once."

"Oh, no, old party," the Duke drawled. "Not at once-I am not that silly. I said, 'As soon as you can,' and just for the moment you cannot. When I know you are safe home in bed will be time enough."

Chang's face remained placid, even if his mind was not the same.

"All right," he agreed. "And if you do not mind telling me, I would like to know how you got up here."

"Certainly, old chow. Only too pleased to give you a few lessons and all that kind of rot. You see, I have avenues of information— I knew something was doing here tonight, and I knew about the decoy message. What schemes you call clever are only in our infant class. All I had to jolly well do was watch the house, have Montagu followed when he left, find his destination, snoop about a bit, and discover the admirable Lash parked in a car nearby— and the millionaire was ours."

Chang nodded as he ground his teeth. "But getting up here?" he said.

"Easy!" the Duke answered airily. "Infants' class stuff again. To trick infants one must become an infant. Assume Montagu's clothes and walk. Step calmly past your hidden spies. When Montagu's butler comes to the door I remain in the deep shadow and take a chance that the butler has never heard his master whisper. I tell him in a whisper that I am his master, and to switch off all the lights as I have been followed. Then walk into the study, close doors and windows and put on the light. In butler's livery my two friends had walked past your spies some time before, and entered the house with some suitcases containing their clothes, the lamps, and the wire and plugs. Even if your Chows saw them entering the windows of the study they probably mistook them for some of their own party. That's what you get for overdoing the business— you must have nearly all Chinatown here tonight. You see, I have a habit of taking advantage of other people's foolishness. Do not scowl, old chicken, it makes you uglier than ever, if that is possible. Then all we had to do was connect up the lamps and ascend the stairs— two of us very silently as they paid out the wire. At the bottom of the staircase we indulged in a jolly little subterfuge, and the Shrimp answered, 'Yes, sir,' to make it more realistic. Now you know. Child's play, was it not?"

"Simple, yes," said Chang. "But will it be so simple to get out?"

"We have you as a hostage," the Duke remarked dryly. "If anything happens, you die at once. That is, so long as we leave before the police arrive. Of course, your old yellow skins will not have been idle— they will have seen the light on here, and Razor's shadow on the windows. They may even find the source of light. I hope not. I also have other men, though. You have literally signed your death warrant, Chang, if anything happens to me."

"Why not kill him in any case— now?" asked the Shrimp in a bloodthirsty tone. "He should not have interfered, and these guns are silent."

Chang swallowed a lump in his throat. He did not feel any too comfortable at that moment, not knowing that the Shrimp was joking. Was not life preferable to a quarter of a million pounds, he asked himself.

"We want him for a hostage," the Duke drawled. "We cannot kill him― yet. It's time we made a move. Come, old―"

He stopped short. Without warning, the lights went out!

The quick transition from dazzling glare to darkness was a shock to the nerves and make the blackness impenetrable.

Chapter 31

The Round-Up

FOR a few seconds there was silence in the room while the six men gathered their scattered senses. Then the Shrimp spoke.

"The first sound I hear I fire at," he said grimly and softly.

The room remained quiet for a few moments. Then the handle of the door creaked ever so slightly.

A voice cut sharply through the silence. "Don't move!" ordered Razor as he sprang out through the French windows and closed them swiftly behind him. A bullet crashed through a pane, fired from somewhere outside, and Razor dropped down by the balcony rail— his revolver plop-plopping viciously.

Then the room door opened. It was too dark in that corner to see it open, but the Shrimp felt the disturbance of air and fired from where he was crouched beside the bed.

Plop! Then a half-cry, a shuffle— a thud!

Something hissed through the air and thudded into the back of the chair on which the Duke had been sitting. But the Duke had vacated the chair when the light went out, and now was kneeling behind it. He put his hand round and jerked out the keen-edged knife quivering there. Two more bullets smashed through the panes of the windows and thudded into the walls. The Duke drew his revolver and aimed at where he imagined the door to be.

Plop!

There was no answer. Silence complete reigned. Not even a rustle disturbed it. Moments passed— moments packed with intensity. Then:

"This way, men," cried Mooney's voice. "They are upstairs."

At once the French windows opened and Razor's head appeared near the floor.

"Come on," he called. "I have silenced the ambush waiting out here."

"Get out, Chang!" the Duke said tersely. "I shall reckon with you later."

Someone closed the bedroom door and locked it. A moment later the Shrimp showed up at the French windows as he wriggled to Razor's side.

The handle of the passage door rattled.

"This floor is locked," cried Fisher's voice. "They must be in here."

"Come on," said the Duke as he appeared at the windows. The three turned and passed swiftly along the balcony. A second later other forms flitted from the windows and padded along the balcony in the opposite direction.

The Duke's party paused at the corner of the house to look over and down at the large, dark expanse of garden.

"Gee!" muttered the Shrimp. "The place is alive with Chinks, police, and the Snail's men."

Dark shadows were flitting about below them-dodging from tree to tree and bush to bush. Out in the street the lamps gleamed ever and anon on the nickelled buttons and ornaments of a policeman's uniform.

As they stood those few seconds watching there was a disturbance over near the iron-railing fence. A challenge— a scuffle— shouts— and the bark of a service revolver.

"Now is the time," the Duke said, throwing a leg over the balcony railing and swiftly sliding down a marble column.

He waited till the others reached his side and they stood on the veranda below.

"Where are Morry, Peter, and the Rose?" he asked the Shrimp.

"Over in the north-west corner," the Shrimp replied.

Thud! Thud! Two bullets spent themselves on the marble column beside which they were standing, and at once the three men dropped down behind the shelter of the railing.

"That would be either Mike or Lash." the Shrimp snapped. "Whoever it is has spoilt a perfectly good coat by drilling a hole in it. I hope it's Mike."

On the balcony above them they heard running footsteps. The Shrimp raised his head cautiously to get a view of the sniper. He picked out a thick bush some distance away as being a likely hiding-place, and was just taking aim at its centre when a police revolver roared from the balcony above. Something thrashed for a second in the bush and then was still.

"Mooney has saved you the trouble, Shrimp," the Duke said. "Evidently the sniper was visible from above, and that is why he did not fire till he could not miss him. Mooney must have spotted him. He always could shoot, that copper."

"He has saved us the trouble, all right," the Shrimp said laconically.

"Come on."

Bent double, they ran along the veranda to where it ended at the back of the house. Then they dashed for cover on the lawn— flitting from bush to bush and working steadily to the position where they knew reinforcements were waiting. Once a service revolver roared at them, and a bullet singed Razor's cheek. Another time a knife whizzed across the Duke's shoulder, and buried itself in a tree-trunk. But they were moving too swiftly and erratically to be good targets— especially in the bad light.

The Shrimp stumbled over something and bent to examine it.

"Someone has written 'Finis' to the story that was Lash," he said, and ducked forward once more.

The house was alight in every corner. Challenging shouts and orders rang from all over the grounds. Late as the hour was, crowds of people were beginning to line the opposite footpaths, wondering dimly what was in the wind, and whether the district had been invaded by a hostile army. Two police patrol wagons were rapidly filling with prisoners— mostly Chinese. The police had now brought great floodlights into use, and were shining them from the house to illuminate the grounds and chase the shadowy prowlers out into the arms of the. waiting cordon of police. The garden was rapidly assuming the light of day as first one and then another of the searchlights were connected up to the electric mains and run into a salient position. Mooney had laid his plans well. He had suspected, when he first heard of the telephone message to the millionaire that the real attack would be made in the house itself, and so he had planned to trap as many of the enemy as possible.

Every constable and detective available had been recruited for the battle, and now Mooney was reaping the fruits of his labours. But in one particular at least he had failed— he could not find the millionaire.

"Mooney is damned clever!" the Shrimp growled as the three dropped flat behind a bush to dodge a sweeping beam of light. "Those lights are a plague. Anyway, we are there now— here is the corner."

As the light passed, the three made a rush forward and dropped flat once more. A second later they rose, and the Shrimp gave vent to a low whistle. There was no answer.

Then suddenly the bushes parted about them and three uniformed constables rushed forward— each with a revolver in one hand and a pair of handcuffs in the other.

Chapter 32

When The Telephone Rang

THERE WAS nothing to do but submit. To have put up a fight would have made matters worse. In silence the three were handcuffed together, and led towards a small gate in the fence. Reaching the street another constable who was patrolling that part of the footpath approached them.

"Is it Ling Chang or the Snail?" he asked.

"No," answered one of the three constables. "Only three prowlers. I do not know them. Are the wagons all full?"

"Pretty well."

"Where is that car we commandeered?"

"It is here, but had not the Inspector better see them first?"

"He can see them at the station," the young constable said. "To tell the truth, I should like to land my prisoners at the station myself."

"Righto, old pal," he said. "Here is the car."

The three prisoners were led to the car standing by the kerb farther along. It seemed rather a prank of Fate that it was the Duke's own car. They were forced in and a policeman took the wheel.

"Better tell the Inspector as Soon as you see him that I have taken this car," the young policeman said.

"I will," answered the other, and ran forward to clear the way through the crowd.

The car, once free of the crush, turned towards the city, a policeman standing on each step. As soon as it was a fair distance away from the millionaire's home, the Duke spoke!

"Better get in now, Morry and Rose," he said to the "constables" on the steps. "And take off these bracelets— they chafe like hell."

Morry and the Rose quickly scrambled into the tonneau, divested themselves of their jackets and caps, and unlocked the handcuffs.

Peter, who was driving, threw his cap into the back.

"Where to?" he asked.

"Straight back to Number One," the Duke said. "Mossy must have his hands full with four prisoners."

"One would hardly call the girl a prisoner." Razor said. "Especially now that she has her father for company."

"No," agreed the Duke. "But those Chinks are different. If they manage to wriggle from their bonds they will make trouble— the millionaire is not young and Mossy is still weak."

"Wriggle from their bonds!" echoed the Rose. "I'll lay a shade of odds they do not. I have a particular set on yellow-skins and I tied 'em up."

The car drew up outside the cottage and the men scrambled out.

"Will we need to wear these clothes any longer?" asked Peter.

"Well, I did have an idea," said the Duke, "and I think it a good one. If two of you "arrested" the Snail in a crowded street he could not put up a fight as the public would help you— thinking you were the police. But it does not matter  now. You had better come in and change. Alter the number plate back to usual, Peter."

Five of the men went up the path to the house while Peter stayed behind for a few moments to slide the number plate from its frame and substitute another. Then he followed.

The Duke placed his key in the lock and opened the door. The passage light) was out and the house was quiet-too quiet. The Duke drew his revolver- and stepped inside.

A moan sounded quite close to him.

At once the six men entered the house, closed the door, and switched on the light.

In the passage they found, stretched out on the runner, his face covered with blood, the millionaire! In the room before which he lay they found Mossy, trussed up like a cooked fowl. A frantic search failed to discover a sign of the girl or the Chinamen!

"Damn!" said the Duke fervently.

While Mossy was being liberated the Duke examined the millionaire.

"Stopped a clout on the head," was his diagnosis. "Only a scalp wound. Look after him, Shrimp."

The Shrimp took over the nursing of Montagu while the Duke interviewed Mossy.

"What happened?" he asked.

"They were locked up in the spare room," Mossy began. "I was sitting in the lounge with Montagu and the girl. I couldn't very well keep them all in the one room— I had to think of the girl's feelings— those Chinks did not smell too well. I had to keep my eye on Montagu too. Well, as far as I can make out, one of 'em had a safety razor blade hidden in his clothes somewhere, and he got it in his teeth and cut his pal's cords. The door was locked, of course, but every ten minutes I had been taking a peep at 'em to see they were all right. When I go to take my next peep, thinking they were still tied up, they are on me before I can make a move. Montagu rushes out to help me, but they drop him with a vase. So they take my gun and truss me up, grab the girl and go out lively— not long before you came home. I'm sorry, Duke."

"That's all right, Mossy," the Duke said. "It is only our bad luck that we could not spare anyone to help guard them. But we are not beaten yet— Tom should be able to tell us something. Has he rung yet?"

"The 'phone rang once, but, of course, I could not answer it."

"Change quickly," the Duke ordered the three dressed, in police uniform. "I want―"

Just then the telephone rang.

The Duke shot up the passage and placed the receiver to his ear.

"When lights are low," he said.

"It is Tom. Hello-hello!" a voice chanted.

"Well, Tom?" said the Duke. "Duke here."

"I have been watching Chang's joint as you said. There is something doing. Evidently Mo Hung 'phoned a taxi. When it came she jumped in and went away like blazes. I rang the house and got no answer, and I was wondering what was up. The taxi has not returned yet, but from this 'phone box I can see Chang's shop quite clearly. Is anything wrong?"

"Everything!" the Duke said. "Did you go up to the Snail's?"

"Yes, I went up there early. The Snail is at home. He evidently thinks we haven't taken a tumble about the house yet. The money was back in the vault. I shifted it somewhere else."

"He is laying a trap," the Duke said. "Oh, rather, Ling Chang is."

"As soon as I had shifted the money I came on to watch Ling Chang's joint. I saw him leave with some pals about ten o'clock. How are things going? Have-wait a minute. Here is the taxi back. Hold on. There are two Chinks getting out. They have got a bundle. The number of the taxi is 4291. The bundle is a girl, I think. They are carrying her inside. Mo Hung is paying the driver and―"

"Wait!" cut in the Duke. "That is Miss Montagu they have. Where is your make-up?"

"At home— a few minutes from here."

"Well, you know how to use it. Stick close to that girl and get her if you can. I am depending on you to see that she's not harmed. I shall be with you at once."

"Good!" said Tom, and the receiver clicked.

"We are in again," the Duke said to the men at his elbow as he turned from the telephone. "The girl is at Chang's."

The telephone rang again imperatively. But there was not a friend at the other end of the wire this time. The Messenger of Death was calling.

Chapter 33

The Plot

SOME time before Tom's conversation with the Duke a young man sat in his bedroom chewing his nails.

"So he called me a yellow cur," said Kleve to himself, rubbing at a smarting quick, literally and figuratively. "I'll show the Snail whether I am or not— I'll show him. And the Duke, too. It was a lucky thing for me that I found out where that lever was today. I guessed it was at Dopey Mary's, but I would never have suspected where if she hadn't shown me the locked room and told me the Snail would never have it unlocked or opened. How simple it was to me! Send her away, open the room and find just what I wanted hidden in the wall— the lever which would flood the Snail's mine. And now— now for revenge— and what a revenge! What a profitable one— I know where every skerrick of the Snail's swag is hidden. The swag and power and freedom from the Duke, for he will go with the Snail. I'll ring him if Ling Chang has been successful."

He was already dressed for going out and he switched out his light and locked his room with feelings of proud happiness. He— Dutchy Kleve— held the strings now. It would be he who would rule the gang after tonight. The Snail and the Duke would be gone. He jangled a handful of pennies in his pocket and whistled an accompaniment.

He went to a public telephone and dialled a number.

"Hello," came the answer in a girl's voice as the two pennies dropped.

"Is that you, Mo Hung?" the young man said. "Kleve speaking."

"Mo Hung here."

"Have you found out where the Duke lives yet?"

"Yes. Two of our men have just rung me. They have the girl near there and are waiting for me to come with a taxi. I have rung for it. They told me the Duke's address."

"What is it?"

The girl told him and Kleve drew a pencil from his pocket and scribbled it on the wall of the telephone box.

"Have you a directory there?" he asked next.

"Yes, the latest," Mo Hung answered. "Why?"

"Look it up for me, please," Kleve said, "and find out who is supposed to be the occupier of that house. Find the street and the number and tell me the name."

"All right," said Mo Hung. "Wait a moment."

A minute or so later the girl spoke again.

"The name is Patterson," she said. "Why do you wish to know?"

"The Snail wants to know," Kleve replied. "Thanks. He will be pleased with your success. Goodbye."

He rang off and smiled at the darkness. Then he took a small electric torch from his pocket and pulled the telephone directory towards him. He was busily engaged for some time poring over the Pattersons until he found the name and address he sought. Then he wrote a number on the cover of the book. He then turned the pages till he came to the name of a dressmaker .whose number he also wrote down.

"Better call the Madras first," he murmured, "and warn the boys."

He dialled a number.

"Hello, who is speaking?" a voice answered him from the dive below the dressmaker's shop.

"Dutchy Kleve here," he said. "Any of the boys there?"

"Yes, Yank is here."

"Tell him to speak, please."

A minute later a deep voice growled, "Hello. What is wrong, Dutchy?"

"A lot. Yank," Kleve said. "Listen. The Snail has got the wind up about the Duke, and he's going to make a getaway. He is going to ditch the boys, and he thinks I would do the same, but I have always been a friend to you all, and I would never do that. If he runs away it shows he has not any grit, and I reckon that we ought to let him run away, for perhaps then the Duke will leave us alone, while I— Kleve— can carry on as leader. I have been doing it a long while now, and I have never let you down. But what I want to tell you is this: Before the Snail goes he is going to destroy any evidence against him, and he believes that dead men tell no tales. He is going to wipe out as many of you as he can— he is going to blow up the mine!"

"The――!" said Yank.

"Yes, he is all of that. And I wanted to warn the boys not to go near the mine to-night, especially if he asks you. He can blow it in and entomb the lot of you— he has had the 'juice' hidden there a long time— he can set it off in a second. Better move quickly, warn as many of the boys as you can, tell 'em to pass the word, and get everyone out of the mine. Hurry."

"Too right. I will. Thanks, Dutchy."

Kleve hung up the receiver and chuckled.

"Clever," he told himself. "Now, when the mine fills up the gang will thank me, and when the Snail is never seen again they will think he has bolted, and never suspect me. Now for the Snail."

Once again he dialled a number and dropped his pennies.

"Hello, who's that?" said a voice.

"Kleve. Who is speaking there?"

"Johnno. What is wrong?"

"Who else is there with you?" Kleve asked.

"Only the Snail," Johnno replied. "Is he up?"

"Yes, and dressed."

"Ask him to speak"

"Hello," said the Snail a moment later. "What's wrong, Dutchy?"

"The Duke is coming for you," Kleve said earnestly. "Chang has got the girl back, and the Duke is fighting mad. You know he vowed to get you tonight. He is on the way to you now with a gun in each hand."

"'Good Lord!" gasped the Snail. "Ring the Madras and send some of the boys down right away."

"I have thought of all that— leave that to Dutchy. We know that house of yours is not safe— he can get in and out as he likes. So I rang up the Madras as soon as I found out and told Yank to gather all the boys and take them to the mine. It is more protected there— especially if you are ready for him. Besides, if you do not get out of that house quickly the Duke is sure to reach there before any of the gang could."

"Yes, you are right," said the Snail. "Get a car ready, Johnno. Listen, Kleve, get every man to the mine you can— I shall try to pick up some myself. A lot of them are at Montague. Hurry."

"Right, boss!" said Kleve and rang off. "If he tries to get any of the boys down to the mine," Kleve told the darkness, "they will suspect him all the more if Yank has done his work well. Now for the last call."

He glanced at one of the numbers he had written on the telephone directory cover and swung the dial once more. As he listened there came to him the monotonous buzz-buzz showing that the number was engaged. That was the time when Tom was calling the Duke.

Kleve waited a few moments and tried again. This time he was more successful.

"Hello," said a voice which he recognised as the Duke's.

"That you, Duke?" Kleve asked. "Who is speaking?"

"Kleve here. I want a word with you."

"Go on with your word."

"Well, you want the Snail, do you not? So do I. He and I have cut loose and I want to join up with you and have revenge on him. He will be in the mine tonight— alone. I told him to hide there from you. I told all the boys to keep away. This is no trap— I want you to get him— and get him good. He called me a yellow cur."

"Did he?" said the Duke. "Perhaps he was right for once. I suppose what you really want if you are telling me the truth is the leadership of the Snail's rotten gang. Thanks for the information, yellow cur."

A click told Kleve that the Duke had hung up his receiver, but he was quite satisfied. He grinned happily as he left the telephone box.

A few minutes' walk brought him to the narrow street where was the entrance to the mine. Some distance up the street from the mine and on the opposite side of the road he paused before a two-storied tenement. He opened the front door with a key and went as silently up the old stairs as was possible. Reaching a passage he went towards the front of the house. For a while he fumbled with the lock of a door there. When at last he entered the room he closed the door carefully behind him and tip-toed across the bare, dusty floor to the window.

"See everyone that enters from here," he said. "The Snail made his plans well. He is a clever fellow— pity he bumped up against me. Now for a look at the lever."

He went to one of the walls of the room where the plaster had been broken away disclosing the bricks beneath. One brick was loose, and by the light of his torch Kleve lifted it free. He shone his light in the cavity. There was a small steel pull-over switch— the lever of which was rusty and old. Twisted round the two terminals, very roughly insulated, was thick electric wire which came from the air cavity between the walls,

"I don't know much about electricity," Kleve murmured, "but I would call that a rough job. Evidently the Snail did it himself."

The only "furniture" the room contained was an empty fruit case, and this Kleve carried to the window. Then he sat down upon it and prepared to wait.

Chapter 34

Mo Hung Strikes First

A CAR which had been travelling speedily pulled up with a grinding of brakes before Ling Chang's shop and Ling Chang leapt out. The car went on at once as the Chinaman quickly crossed the footpath and knocked on the shop door.

The door was opened immediately by Mo Hung.

"Where is the millionaire?" she asked as Chang entered.

"Bah! The Snail's men let him slip through their fingers," Chang snapped. "They are fools. I am lucky to be here at all."

"It does not matter about the millionaire, adored one," said the girl, bolting the door. "We have his daughter downstairs."

Chang halted. "You have, eh? Good. Did Sun and Ming get her?"

"Yes, after the Duke had captured them and they had escaped again."

"They were lucky to escape," Chang remarked. "That Duke man is clever. Not only clever— he is cool and fearless— a dangerous foe. Let me see the girl."

He kissed his "daughter" and they went through the darkened shop and storeroom to the rear room. Chang went straight to the foot of the stairs which led to the rooms above. Bending, he grasped the sides of the steps and pulled. Four steps slid towards him and then came away altogether, showing a dark square opening and the top of a ladder leading down.

"The Duke would never find her here," Chang chuckled, "That is the most cleverly hidden trapdoor in existence. Who would ever suspect it? What joins are necessary are part of the stair joins. Sometimes, Mo Hung, I think I am as cunning as they say I am. Close them behind me."

"Where is the Duke?" the girl asked. Chang was descending the ladder. He chuckled.

"Wong saw him and some of his companions being arrested. He is quite safe now— quite safe."

Chang's head reached the level of the floor and the girl pushed the steps into position again.

The ladder was not very long. Soon the crafty old Chinaman had stepped from it to the hard clay. He felt his way along a short passage, turned a corner, and two steps before him was a rough door, which he pushed open.

Before him was a fairly large, roughly-hewn and buttressed room lighted by electricity. The walls were stacked high with goods— forbidden goods. Here was opium in plenty, cocaine, morphia. This room was Chang's most useful possession Here he kept those of his countrymen who were smuggled' into Australia on some ship 'tween decks-prohibited immigrants. The Customs Department could have solved a great many mysteries had its men seen that underground room. There were bunks in the room, a table and a food cupboard. On one of the indescribably greasy bunks sat Florence Cecilia Helen Montagu, looking intensely miserable. The tide of fortune had swung once more, only she deemed it even worse to be in the hands of these foul-colored crooks than in those of the Snail's men.

She viewed the bland smile of the new arrival with disfavour.

The two Chinamen who had captured her were sitting on a nearby bunk.

Chang smirked and bowed. "Ling Chang pays his respects to beauty," he said silkily. "To beauty he had never dreamed existed."

His eyes gloated over the torn low-cut evening frock, the ragged skirt, her sheer-silk clad legs. She hastily rose.

"Please allow me to go," she said shakily. "Why am I being kept here?"

"Because I love two things, and you mean both to me— beauty and money."

"You cannot keep me here," the girl said, striving to appear unafraid. "The-the Duke will kill you."

"The Duke!" Chang laughed horribly. "Don't you worry about the Duke-I am not worrying. The Duke tried to cross swords with Ling Chang to-night, and now-the Duke is in gaol."

The girl dropped back on the bunk, her last hope shattered. Panic and despair began to creep upon her. She covered her face with her hands. Chang's eyes threw back the light in russet glints as he gloated over her. He turned to the two other men.

"You have done well," he said. "You may go."

The two men rose and left the room. Chang listened to them climb the ladder and knock on the bottom of the stairs.

"Is that you, adored one?" Mo Hung asked as she pulled the steps bock.

She saw one of the Chinamen's heads and laughed musically.

"Come up. Where is your master?" she asked.

"Below," the man answered. "He said we were to go— not wanted."

The slant eyes of Mo Hung narrowed slightly.

"It is well," she said. "I will let you out."

The men climbed from the opening, and Mo Hung pushed the stairs into place again. She unlocked the back door and the men slipped out into the night. Then she closed and locked the door and went softly back across the room to the stairs. Very slowly and carefully she edged the bottom steps back a trifle until a thin crack of darkness showed. To this she placed her ear. Quite distinctly Chang's words were carried back to her.

"You are very young and beautiful, and I could be very kind to you. Am I so distasteful to you? A Chinaman studies love— I can show you real love-real passion— real joy."

A soft, hissing sound came from Mo Hung's throat like a snake about to strike. She knew well Chang's reputation as a connoisseur of youth and beauty. It was because of this fondness of his that she, Mo Hung, was here.

"So he is tired of me," she said as she closed the steps. "He wants the white girl. Soon, if he gets her, he will slit my throat— like he has done others. But not Mo Hung. No, Mo Hung strikes first. It is safest. If he succeeds down there she— a girl of her kind— will never be able to look another white man in the face— she will have to remain Chang's till she commits suicide or he tires of her. I must act— at once."

She cast her eyes about the room in search of an idea. Then she stiffened. A muffled scream could be heard faintly from below.

Then, as if in answer to her bewilderment, a light knock sounded on the back door!

Mo Hung went swiftly to the door and pushed aside a small grooved . piece of wood disclosing a square peephole.

"Who is there?" she asked.

"It is I, Ah Wong," a voice said softly in Chinese. "I wish to see Ling Chang— it is urgent."

The girl turned the key and opened the door wide enough to let a man in a low-pulled cap glide with Oriental shuffle into the room. She looked at him sharply.

"You are not Ah Wong," she said in Chinese. "Who are―"

Swiftly the man's hands had grasped her throat, choking off speech, making her head swim dizzily.

"Where are Chang and the girl?" The man spoke now in English and between his clenched teeth. "Speak— before I snap your spine."

Mo Hing smiled. The gods were good. Here was revenge already. If Chang had remained true to her his enemies would never have found the girl, but now―

The man's hands had slackened to allow her to speak.

"Come," she said huskily and drew him towards the stairs.

The pseudo Chinaman, who was in reality Tom, followed her, holding her firmly. She bent and pulled back the bottom steps. As she did so a piercing scream came up from the opening.

Tom waited for no more. Releasing the girl, he slid down the ladder. At the bottom he switched on a torch and raced along the passage. He came to the door and sent it crashing inwards. Then he hurled himself at the Chinaman who was struggling with the girl.

Chang turned with a snarl and ducked under Tom's vicious swing. The force of his rush carried him over the Chinaman. Chang seized his ankles and with a jiu-jitsu twist threw him into the air. Tom fell heavily and his head struck the corner of a box. He moaned and lay still.

Chang slipped a long knife from his belt and moved slowly towards the unconscious man.

Florence, too weak to rise, screamed again.

Chapter 35

The Trap Closes

AS Chang lifted the knife to strike, a "plop" sounded from the doorway, and the knife flew from his fingers. Chang swung about, an oath on his lips.

Standing in the doorway was the Shrimp— a gun in each hand.

"I'm not going to kill you," the Shrimp hissed between his teeth. "Killing is too good for a vile thing like you. But I'm going to make you suffer. I shall leave you here for Mo Hung to find— and nurse."

The guns in his hands spurted, and Ling Chang crumpled up— a bullet in each leg.

"And when you want to die," were the last words Ling heard before he lost consciousness, "tell Mooney who did it."

The Duke stepped past the Shrimp as Florence staggered weakly to her feet.

"Thank God you are here!" she sobbed, and collapsed in his arms.

The Duke picked her up as though she were a baby and crossed swiftly towards the door.

"Bring Tom up," he said to the Shrimp. "We shall have to get out as quick as we can-the police may be here at any moment looking for Chang."

They left Chang where he had fallen, and carried Tom and the girl up to the room above where Razor and Peter were waiting.

"Seen anyone yet?" the Duke asked Peter.

"Not a soul," Peter replied. "It beats me. It is not like Chang or Mo Hung to leave the back door open and the steps pulled back to show the way down to anyone like ourselves who cared to enter. Perhaps Mo Hung is hiding somewhere."

"Maybe," said the Duke. "Perhaps Tom will be able to tell us when he recovers. Close those stairs. We don't want the police to find Chang— he will open his mouth. Mo Hung can attend to him. Come on."

They went out the back door and closed it behind them.

In the lane into which the back yard gave forth was the Duke's car. Peter and Razor scrambled aboard— Peter in the driving seat and Razor in the back. The Shrimp propped Tom up in the back, and the Duke handed the girl to Razor.

"Get home as quickly as you can," the Duke said. "You know what to do with the girl and her father, Razor. The Shrimp and I are going to the mine-we have a little account to settle there. Good-bye."

The Shrimp and the Duke watched the car speed down the lane. Then the Duke turned with a wistful smile.

"She should be safe now," he said, with something like a sigh. "Well, come on, old pal, it looks as though tonight will be the end."

The two walked swiftly down the lane...

A few seconds later two packing cases in Chang's back yard moved and a girl stepped out. She was crying.

"Have they killed my adored one?" she sobbed. "Oh, if only they have let him live everything will be all right again."

She entered the house and went to the foot of the stairs, pulling the bottom steps back frantically. She called softly, but there was no answer, so she entered the hole and descended the ladder, pausing long enough to pull the steps into position again. She had just reached the foot of the ladder when she heard a sound above.

"Does not seem to be anyone at home, although the light is on," said a voice.

"The police!" she gasped. "Mooney!" Then she smiled. He would never find them down there.

As she felt her way along the passage she could hear men stamping about in the house above. They were searching the house, but they would find nothing, nothing! They always found nothing.

She entered the underground room, and her breath caught and choked her as she beheld the sprawled figure on the ground. She ran to his side and hung over him a second.

He moaned.

"The gods are good," she said. "He is not dead. I will win him back again."

KLEVE sat crouched at the window like a beast of prey waiting to spring, his narrowed eyes intent on the street below.

"He is a long time," he growled. "What if he never comes... Ah!"

He straightened, and though it was obviously impossible for anyone below to see him lurking there, he drew back instinctively.

The Duke and the Shrimp were walking down the street— in battle order. They were walking carefully— their eyes glancing in all directions— one behind the other, and the Shrimp had, both his hands in his pockets.

Kleve chuckled. "The Shrimp's guns will be no use this time," he said.

The two came to the low door and paused. Kleve saw a crowbar glint in the Duke's hands as the Shrimp flashed a torch on and off. The door was strong and firmly bolted. Kleve knew that the Snail would be sure to make it fast, but then— no door made of wood could stop a determined man— especially the Duke. Kleve chuckled again, and watched eagerly with professional interest.

Fifteen minutes passed; slowly to Kleve, but speedily to the busy men. Occasionally on the still morning air a splintering crack drifted up to Kleve, who reflected with pleasure that they were going to great pains to open up their tomb. The Shrimp now had his guns bare in his hands, and was keeping guard while the Duke worked.

The Duke paused and straightened his coat.

The door was open!

The Shrimp took a last look round, and then the two men stepped cautiously into the doorway and passed from the sight of Kleve, who could not help admiring their courage.

He felt like laughing aloud. "I am too clever for them," he crowed. "The Snail and Johnno entered long ago and are waiting, waiting. Now the Duke and the Shrimp are inside, and I am waiting. A few minutes, give them plenty of time, and they will be together, deep down in the mine, and then— I will drown them like rats."

WHEN THE GIRL came to her senses she was lying on the couch in the lounge-room of the Duke's home. Her father was sitting beside her, while Razor stood before her, glass in hand. She sat up, and for a moment could not gather her dizzy senses. Then she placed her hand before her mouth to choke off a scream.

"That vile Chinaman," she cried.

"You are all right now, dear," her father said, placing his arms about her. "You are safe with me again."

She snuggled into his arms, burying her face on his chest. For a moment she lay thus, then she raised her head and looked swiftly about the room.

"Where is he?" she asked.

The guns in his hands spurted and Ling Chang crumpled up— a bullet in each leg.

"The Chinaman is not―" her father began.

"Not the Chinaman— where is the Duke?"

Razor answered. "He is not home yet," he said, and sighed softly.

"But where is he? Out in the darkness somewhere— still fighting?"

"You can depend upon it that he is all right," Razor said.

"How can you be sure?" the girl asked fiercely. "Why are you not all with him— helping him?"

"Don't excite yourself, dear," her father said soothingly. "The man is all right. We are going home now."

"Going home?"

"Yes. This gentleman," Montagu nodded his bandaged head at Razor, "has told me that his leader was only acting in our interests all the time, and that after tonight it would be safe for us to go home. All he wants is for us to keep quiet about what has happened, which I am quite willing to do, seeing how he has saved you for me. I am going to ring for a car now."

"You can save yourself the trouble," Florence said resolutely. "I don't want to go home— I am not going home."

Her father stared at her. "Poor child— she has suffered a lot. She is delirious."

"I am not delirious. I am going to wait till the Duke returns."

"Don't be silly, my dear," Montagu said testily, his nerves not the best. "The man is all right. What does it matter to you where this crook is?"

"Matter?" exclaimed Florence. "It matters a great deal. He may be a crook— a murderer— anything. I don't care. I love him!"

Chapter 36

The Fight In The Mine

The Duke and the Shrimp went very cautiously through the house which gave access to the mine. They raised the big trap-door carefully and listened.

"It appears that Kleve was honest for once," the Duke said, "it does not seem like a trap."

The Shrimp grunted. "I shall believe in Kleve's honesty when we have settled with the Snail and got out of here," he said, as he cautiously tested the stairs.

They went down the stairs and along several passages until they came, to the empty guard-room. No one was in sight. The whole mine seemed deserted. Lower and lower they went, as silently as shadows, occasionally using their torches to find their way.

"If the Snail be indeed here," whispered the Duke once, "he must be in his room."

"That is where he would be if he were hiding from you," the Shrimp answered. "Better approach the place the same way as we did before."

They did not speak again, but hurried on.

At last they were in the secret passage which ended in the back of the wardrobe in the small apartment that led to the Snail's room. Here they went even more cautiously.

The Shrimp slowly opened the back of the wardrobe. Darkness greeted him, darkness and the low murmur of voices. The two men stepped from the wardrobe and crossed the apartment to where a chink of light showed beneath a door. They bent their heads and listened.

"I cannot make it out," a voice, which was unmistakably the Snail's, was saying. "Some of the boys should have arrived by this."

"Something funny about this," said another voice, which the Shrimp, with a feeling of glee, placed as Johnno's. "Perhaps it was not Kleve at all who rang up."

"It was Kleve, all right," said the Snail. "But, even so, I am beginning to think I was a fool to trust Kleve. I told him off the other day, and I don't think he looks up to me like he used to. It is the cursed Duke— since he started to fight me... every time he beats me the men lose more respect for me."

"Why does the Duke hate you?" Johnno asked.

"Lots of people hate me," the Snail said, and laughed evilly. "I have given them reason."

"What could be Kleve's reason in getting you down here?"

"I cannot see any; otherwise I would not have come. And yet what if— my God, he knows I can flood this mine!"

"Where from?" asked Johnno, in a panic.

"Ah— he does not know that," the Snail said, in a more relieved tone. "I wonder how the boys got on tonight. Did Chang get the millionaire and the girl, or did the Duke interfere again? Curse the Duke! Nothing has gone right since he came to light. But Chang will fix him."

"Yes, Chang will fix him," Johnno said.

"Perhaps!" came another voice from the doorway, and the Snail swung about— a scream of fear issuing from his lips.

"Your nerves are bad, slimy creature," the Duke said, as the scream died in its own echoes. "Take their weapons, Shrimp. I will keep them covered.".

As the Shrimp searched the two men he felt them shivering with fear.

"Did I not say I would have your other ear?" the Shrimp chuckled to the Snail, and the Snail screamed again.

"Empty those guns, Shrimp," the Duke said, and the room reverberated in crashing echoes as the Shrimp fired round after round at the floor, the word "Finis" appearing roughly to the terrorised men, picked out in lead. Then he smashed up two razors belonging to Johnno, using the butts of the heavy revolvers as hammers. He finally threw the guns and razors into a corner.

The Duke dropped into a chair, still keeping the bandaged men covered with his guns.

"Listen, Snail," he said. "The time has come to settle accounts. We have not much time either, because I think your guess about Kleve flooding the mine was a good one. You see, Kleve told me you were here, and has evidently warned everyone else to keep away from the mine. The way I work it out is this— he wants to rule the gang, and as he has found out the way to flood the mine he sees a splendid opportunity of getting rid of both you and me at the one time. Rather clever. You will find it fairly hard to swim out with one leg. Death should come any moment now."

"My God!" gasped the Snail. "Let us get upstairs."

"Why?" asked the Duke. "Surely you— who have inflicted death on so many — are not afraid of it when it comes to yourself. The nearness of death leaves me undisturbed. I have done all I set out to do— your gang is smashed up— Mooney got almost all of them tonight. Chang is seriously wounded; the girl and her father are safe. Three of the four fiends you always took with you on your expeditions to slice people to pieces are dead— I shot Simmie myself, the Shrimp shot Carter, and I think Mike was killed tonight. There now remains only my main objective— you and Johnno— and you two die tonight."

"Why?" shrieked Johnno. "Why pick us out?"

"Why?" echoed the Duke coldly. "The Shrimp is my uncle— my father's brother. One word will take you back many years— to a dark night— to a fight. Our name."

The Snail leant forward. "What?" he said.

"The name of the man who took away your leg and scarred your face," the Duke hissed.

The Snail shrank back. "You are his son!" he breathed.

"Yes— I am his son. Now do you understand why I pestered you, caused you pain, thwarted you at every turn. And now, Snail, comes the final reckoning— with bare fists."

At once he and the Shrimp commenced to fire their revolvers, plop-plop-plop-plop at the floor until the only sound which came from them was the click of the hammers.

"We have no more bullets," said the Shrimp, and laughed high in his throat as Johnno rushed at him.

The Snail sprang from his chair and swung his crutch above his head. The Duke ducked in below it, but the Snail nimbly hopped back and began to use the crutch— sword-fashion— jab-jabbing at the Duke's set face.

The Shrimp had met Johnno's first rush with a smashing straight left, and a laugh of sheer joy, and Johnno, deciding the Shrimp was too quick and knew too much to allow him to get to close quarters, had swept a chair up in his hands and was pursuing the darting, ducking Shrimp with it.

There was a terrific, smashing roar from somewhere higher up in the mine, and the vicious splashing of tons of water let loose.

Chapter 37

Poetic Justice

THE ELECTRIC light remained on, though the Duke knew that it would be only a matter of moments before they would have darkness added to the other terrors of the mine. He watched the Snail. The Snail would know exactly from which direction the water would come and would make for the safest exit.

The Snail darted forward, his crutch beneath his arm now, towards the door by which the Duke and the Shrimp had entered. But the Duke was before him and threw him back so that he crashed to the floor. Johnno, the chair swinging like a flail in his hands, came leaping towards the Duke, only to fall cursing— brought down upon the Snail by the Shrimp's flying tackle. The chair flew from his hands, and the three men were a mixture of flashing arms and legs.

The opposite door burst open with a roar and a rending of timber. Water poured into the room— a foot deep— two feet deep...

Twice the Shrimp's fist crashed upon Johnno's face, and then he wrenched himself free of the clawing fingers and splashed through the water to the Duke's side.

They sprang across the room to the wardrobe, climbed through, and went, as fast as the rapidly rising water would permit them, along the secret passage. The water helped as much as it hindered as it swept them along with it.

"The water will stop rising when it reaches its own level," the Duke gasped, "but its level is far above this. Use your torch. It is not far to the ladder."

The Shrimp flashed his torch forward and it glinted on the swirling stream of water and the glistening rock walls and roof. Someone was splashing along behind them.

The water was rising rapidly. Now it was up to their armpits, and was not washing with them so much now, but swirling and eddying in a way which made progress difficult. The wall before them was pushing it back on to them.

The torch lit up a blank wall a few yards ahead.

"The shaft!" said the Duke thankfully, with a flood of memories of the time when the Shrimp, Razor, Florence, and himself had once climbed it in almost as perilous circumstances.

In a few moments they had fought their way through the whirlpool to the bottom of the thirty-foot ladder, and had commenced to climb. The water was rising so quickly now that the Shrimp, who was behind the Duke, could hardly keep ahead of it. Below him and beneath the surface Johnno was climbing with a frenzy of fear to urge him on. His hands touched one of the Shrimp's ankles, and he hung on.

The Shrimp was almost torn from the ladder. He raised his free foot and brought it crashing down— down on to Johnno's face. The clawing fingers released him, and there was an extra stir in the water.

The Snail, with the enormous strength he possessed in his shoulders due to the absence of one foot, was battling grimly still lower down the ladder, and fighting hard to keep his lungs from bursting as he felt Johnno's body brush him and go swirling down into the whirlpool. He went on, striving to get his head above the water. To him the world was one thing only— air. He had never craved anything so greatly, and never had anything so far away.

The Duke and the Shrimp had outdistanced the water by several feet now. They scrambled on, and at last the Duke shouted with joy.

"The top!"

The Shrimp, weighted down by his wet clothes and flagging with weariness, fought on till he felt the Duke's outstretched hands grasp his collar and drag him to the landing above. The Shrimp rolled over wearily and pointed his torch down the shaft.

The water was ten feet below them, and seemed to have ceased rising. While they watched a head slowly came into view above the turbid surface. It was the Snail. He was moving slowly— slowly and wearily! He paused a second and strove to breathe; instead, he coughed out a stream of water. His glazed eyes looked up at them as he hung motionless.

In them was defeat— the trap he had laid for others had turned on himself-he had called on Nature to help him, and Nature had taken its toll. But the indomitable spirit, built up by countless battles, was still within him as he released one hand and strove to lift it to the next step.

Death laughed in his ear— the effort was too great— he was too weak— the water swirled about him and held his body too firmly for one hand and one foot to draw him any higher. The water seeping into his gaping mouth, he clutched at the step— clutched and clutched again. Then he released the other hand and tried with both— and missed!

He slipped away from the ladder; they heard his gurgling scream.

A white face, tangled in sodden bandages, looked up at them for an instant. Wide eyes spoke of death! The water swirled.

Then the surface was clear.

The Snail had paid his debts.

It was a big moment to the two watchers— a moment they had worked and waited for. For a few seconds they were silent.

"He placed the explosive there to trap somebody," the Duke said, "and, instead, was trapped by it himself."

"Well, we win," said the Shrimp. "Nothing can rob us of that now. And it your father, my brother, is watching us now, as well as all those others, he must smile and be content... Now to get out. It is pretty certain that Kleve will have a gun trained on the door, just in case the water fails to get any of us."

The Duke nodded agreement as they went forward.

It was evident that the water had reached its level, for they did not meet it again. They went on unmolested by man or Nature till they came to the trap-door. Here, too, there was no sign of anyone, and they went through the house to the broken door.

"There is no other way out of this place," the Duke remarked, frowning at the doorway, "according to the words and panic of our friends when we were here before— not even a window. Oh, well, we cannot wait here. The water has got into my wound and opened it again, I think. It is giving me hell. I have my steel jacket on, so here goes!"

Before the Shrimp could stop him the Duke stepped through the doorway in to the silent street.

The Shrimp followed him immediately and stood beside him. They were without arms of any kind, and at the mercy of whoever cared to fire at them.

But nothing happened.

"That is funny!" said the Shrimp after a few seconds. "Perhaps Dutchy is satisfied that he has done his one good deed for the day and has gone home."

"Perhaps so," said the Duke. "Let us do the same."

They set off down the street looking for a telephone booth or a taxi-cab to take them to where they would get some rest at last.

AND WHERE was Dutchy Kleve? Had he left his post? In a sense he had, though he was still in the Snail's locked room in Dopey Mary's tenement. He had watched by the window after the Duke and the Shrimp had entered the mine, and as he watched he had calculated every footstep. They would move slowly and carefully— it would never do for him to spoil his plans by acting prematurely. With his watch in his hand he had followed their movements in his mind.... Now, they would be at the guard-room— now on the floor below— now in the secret passage— now in the ante-room. Now they would surprise the Snail and Johnno. Give them a few minutes for talk— they would not kill the other two at once...

And now would be the time to act. Kleve rose and crossed the room to the lever. He flashed his torch on it.

"I don't know anything about electricity," Kleve murmured, "but I would call that a rotten and un-tradesmanlike job."

It certainly had not been made with an eye to beauty. The main point the Snail seemed to have aimed at was solid construction. The connections seemed to be still sound, but the rubber insulation on the pull-over switch had long since rotted away.

"What does it matter?" chuckled Kleve, "so long as it will do the work. Now, good-bye, Snail. Good-bye, Duke."

He grasped the lever firmly, placed his free hand on the brick wall for extra pressure, and pulled over the switch. Immediately there was a blue flash in his face, a flash that ran along and around his body, which lifted from the floor, seemed to flip like a piece of rag in the air, writhed, twisted, and then hung from the lever a second— every muscle agonisingly contracted. Then death loosened the muscles, and Kleve dropped like a sack. His body had completed the circuit of death.

The Snail had made a rough job of the switch, but— it had paid his debt of revenge. He had lived after his slayer.

The burnt, twisted mass would never rule in his stead.

Chapter 38

Joy

THE Duke paid off the taxi-cab went up the path and opened the door of Number One with a key.

Razor met him in the passage— went to him swiftly and grasped his hand.

"Thank God you're back," he said. "I was afraid."

The Duke laughed. "It is all right, old chap," he said kindly. "Did you see that the girl and her father reached home safely?"

"She wouldn't go," Razor said. "Not till you returned."

The Duke raised his eyebrows and smiled. Then he entered the lounge where the rest of his men and the Montagus were awaiting him.

"Our job is ended, boys," he said. "The Snail is dead— the Shrimp and I saw him sink back into the water with which Kleve flooded the mine. Honour is satisfied. Johnno and Lash are also dead."

"That was Mike who was killed in the garden," Razor said. "The Rose has been down to the Madras and got the news. Skinny died in hospital tonight."

"It is a clean-up," the Duke said a trifle wearily. ''We have won— even though at the expense of a brave man's life. But Irish will always live in our memories as the noblest of comrades. Well, lads, in another hour the Duke will also be no more. There is no longer any need to keep the crowd together. If the need ever arises for us to be pals in battle again, well— I will know where you are and will know where to look for staunch, brave comrades. And now it is goodbye."

The Shrimp walked into the lounge, and the Duke went along to his bed room.

"You will have to excuse the Duke." the Shrimp said. "As you can see we are both wet through and our boots are full of mud.

"Are you not going with the others?" Florence asked.

"Not yet," the Shrimp replied. "You see, the Duke is my nephew and I help to manage his affairs. There are some houses to sell and other things to do before he and I go our separate ways."

"Why separate at all?" the girl asked.

"I think it best," the Shrimp said.

They talked on and on until the door opened and a young man in a quietly cut dark suit entered. He was a clean-shaven, clean-cut, good-looking young man and Florence stared at him for a second before she knew him.

"The Duke!" she cried, springing to her feet.

"The Duke has gone," the Shrimp said. "Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Robert Gresley."

The girl stared. She felt strangely shy in the presence of this young man. Where were the vacuous expression, the simpering ways, the tiny moustache? She caught herself staring, and blushed. Then the young man smiled— and it was the Duke's kindly smile. He bowed.

"Mr. Montagu," he said. "I think It is up to me to give you an explanation of my recent disguise and many other things. If you care to listen I would like to trust you with the story."

The millionaire eyed the young man keenly for a moment before he spoke.

"It seems," he said, "that I have made a mistake in my summing up of you. As I see you now you are something more than a crook— you are not a crook— far from it."

"Far from it, is correct," Gresley said, dropping on a chair. "Shall I begin?"

"Certainly," the millionaire said. "I am eager to hear."

The girl did not need to speak— her interest was written plainly on her face.

The Shrimp excused himself and left the room.

"My father was Chief-Inspector of Police Gresley," the young man began. "Years ago he was instrumental in breaking up a murderous organisation of criminals called the Acton Gang.

Mainly from the evidence he gathered and gave, three of them were executed, one of these being Bert Acton, whose father, years before, had also expiated his crimes on the scaffold. The Acton family was not finished then, though Bert had a brother, Roy, who was as vile as, or viler than, the rest of the family.

"A few months after the execution of Bert Acton— one night when I was staying at a friend's place— our house was entered by a gang and my father and mother murdered. My father had evidently put up a terrific fight, for there was blood all over the room, while beneath his body was found a— broken and chipped razor. Naturally Roy Acton was suspected of this crime, but he was not to be found. It was two years before he was seen again— his face horribly scarred and one leg amputated— the result, we are sure, of his fight with my father. I have discovered since that while he was hidden away he was being treated by an outlawed doctor.

"He was arrested, but there was insufficient evidence to convict him. He was given the benefit of the doubt. I was sure he was guilty, so I determined to make absolutely certain, and then avenge my parents. If the law had too many loopholes to hold this murderous, diabolical scoundrel, then he would not escape me. I had two uncles, one was my father's brother and a crack revolver shot in the army. I told him my plan and he vowed to join me in my revenge-resigning at once from the military forces. My other uncle was my mother's brother. He was a member of the police force as my father had been, and rapidly rising— he is now Commissioner Hart— and he decided that he also would help us unlawfully avenge his sister's death, but by remaining in the force he could help us most by keeping us posted with police movements, supplying us with police uniforms and other such things.

"So for months my uncle and I prepared. We first changed our identities— my uncle grew a drooping moustache and changed mannerisms and way of dress; I grew a tiny moustache and took on the mannerisms of a fop. These changes were very necessary, for both my uncle and I bore a strong facial resemblance to my father, who was, of course, well known to both the police and the men of Acton's gang. If we were ever caught by the police we had no wish to bring the family name in.

"Roy Acton, more soured than ever with life because of his infirmity, had acquired a large and vicious gang, and the nickname of the Snail. He had embarked on an orgy of frightful killing. Everyone who refused to do his bidding was trapped by the Snail and four men named Johnno, Mike, Simmie, and Carter. These five were demons. I know of nine occasions on which they cut persons literally to pieces bit by bit with razors. To watch such a murder was the Snail's chief delight. He had once suffered from a razor himself, and now he found unholy joy in seeing others suffer. But those murders were to come back on him.

"Our preparations finished, and all our inquiries concluded satisfactorily, my uncle— and I entered the underworld as alleged crooks. We worked the whole thing like a business, and had our hideouts and depots all ready before we began. Soon it became generally known that we were enemies of the Snail, and slowly recruits began to come to us, as we had expected, with no other purpose than revenge on the Snail. There was the Rose— the Snail sold his sister to the white-slavers, and she killed herself; the Snail murdered the fathers of Tom. Peter, Irish, and Razor. Razor's father was a policeman who was making himself particularly obnoxious to the Snail's gang, so the Snail had him waylaid and cut to pieces. The shock of his terrible death was indirectly the cause of Razor's mother's death, although she was a very delicate woman. This left Razor, whose name is Thomas Buckley, an orphan with nothing to live for but revenge.

"The Snail was an inhuman fiend, but clever— always too clever to leave any real evidence behind him. His very fiendishness protected him in a way, as his confreres were afraid to squeal in case they, too, were sliced apart. The Snail murdered Morry's brother and Mossy's mother. All these lads came from good, law-abiding families, and— thinking I was a crook— refused to take any share in the spoils. Last night I told them the truth— who I was and now they know about each other.

"We thought it too merciful to kill the Snail at once, and so we hectored and pestered him first at every turn. Everything he stole we took from him, and it is now in a safe deposit of which Commissioner Hart holds the key, waiting to be secretly returned to its rightful owners. The four men who accompanied the Snail on his butchering excursions are now all dead— so the debt has been fully repaid. That is all."

The Shrimp entered the room. He was now clean-shaven; a solid chunk of a man with a military bearing. His hair was slickly brushed back and his face glowed with health. His resemblance to the younger man was most noticeable.

"I am dashed if I can get the dye out of my hair," he remarked ruefully, and the others laughed.

Montagu rose. "I want to shake hands with you both," he said. "You have done the country a very great and very risky service in ridding it of such a band of men. I suppose you found my daughter rather a complication, eh?"

"She was, rather," Robert Gresley answered. "We could not very well put her in a strongroom to be returned at a later date. I meant to return her, as soon as I had rescued her, but then it was too dangerous. I must compliment her on being a first-rate nurse."

The girl reddened. "Then you know!" she said softly.

"That you are a fibber? Yes."

"Let us go out into the kitchen," the Shrimp said to Montagu, "and see if we can find something to celebrate the end of our task."'

"Good!" agreed the millionaire. "I could do with something, sentimental reasons aside,"

The two men left the room. Florence looked at the carpet.

"I remember once," she said in almost a whisper, "hearing a man talking— he thought I was asleep and he stroked my hair. I liked that more than anything that had ever happened in my life."

Gresley leaned forward.

"You did!" he said earnestly. "I did not know!"

"I was his prisoner then," the girl went on dreamily. "I am still his prisoner."

Gresley started toward her. "Darling, will you always be?" he asked.

She smiled tenderly. "I have already promised you that I will never try to escape. Remember? And I keep my promises. But you are a thief, for you stole my heart."

The Duke took a deep breath of happiness.

"And all the millions in the world would not ransom you now," he said as his arms went round her.

The End

Transcriber's notes:

1. Published in weekly episodes in The World's News (Sydney) commencing 4 December 1935. It has not published in book form. 64,000 words.

2. Chapter 30 did not have a title in The World's News serial.

Table of Contents

- Unnamed
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38