[Frontispiece: If ever prayer came from the depths of a broken heart, it was that forlorn plea for the lost sister. ]

TRAFFIC IN SOULS

_A Novel of Crime and Its Cure_

BY

EUSTACE HALE BALL

 _ILLUSTRATIONS FROM SCENES IN THE PHOTO-PLAY_

G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY

PUBLISHERS ---- NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY

G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY

_Traffic in Souls_

_This novel is based in part upon the scenario of the photo-drama ofthe same name written by Walter MacNamara and produced by the UNIVERSALFILM MANUFACTURING COMPANY, New York City. The incidents andcharacterisations are founded upon stories of real life. Actual scenesof the underworld haunts are faithfully reproduced. The criminalmethods of the traffickers are substantiated by the reports of the JohnD. Rockefeller, Jr. , Investigating Committee for the Suppression ofVice, and District Attorney Whitman's White Slave Report. _

Press of

J. J. Little & Ives Co. 

New York

 TO THAT FEARLESS AMERICAN CITIZEN AND STERLING PUBLIC OFFICIAL, CHARLES S. WHITMAN, DISTRICT ATTORNEY FOR THE BOROUGH OF MANHATTAN, IN THE CITY OF NEW YORK, THIS BOOK IS ADMIRINGLY DEDICATED. E. H. B. 

 "_What has man done here? How atone, Great God, for this which man has done? And for the body and soul which by Man's pitiless doom must now comply With lifelong hell, what lullaby Of sweet forgetful second birth Remains? All dark. No sign on earth What measure of God's rest endows The Many mansions of His house. _

 "_If but a woman's heart might see Such erring heart unerringly For once! But that can never be. _

 "_Like a rose shut in a book In which pure women may not look, For its base pages claim control To crush the flower within the soul; Where through each dead roseleaf that clings, Pale as transparent psyche-wings, To the vile text, are traced such things As might make lady's cheek indeed More than a living rose to read; So nought save foolish foulness may Watch with hard eyes the sure decay; And so the lifeblood of this rose, Puddled with shameful knowledge flows Through leaves no chaste hand may unclose; Yet still it keeps such faded show Of when 'twas gathered long ago, That the crushed petals' lovely grain, The sweetness of the sanguine stain, Seen of a woman's eyes must make Her pitiful heart, so prone to ache, Love roses better for its sake:-- Only that this can never be:-- Even so unto her sex is she!_

 "_Yet, Jenny, looking long at you, The woman almost fades from view. A cipher of man's changeless sum Of lust, past, present, and to come, Is left. A riddle that one shrinks To challenge from the scornful sphinx. _

 "_Like a toad within a stone Seated while Time crumbles on; Which sits there since the earth was curs'd For Man's transgression at the first; Which, living through all centuries, Not once has seen the sun arise; Whose life, to its cold circle charmed, The earth's whole summers have not warmed; Which always--whitherso the stone Be flung--sits there, deaf, blind, alone;-- Aye, and shall not be driven out 'Till that which shuts him round about Break at the very Master's stroke, And the dust thereof vanished as smoke, And the seed of Man vanished as dust:-- Even so within this world is Lust!_"

 --From "Jenny, " by Dante Gabriel Rosetti. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. NIGHT COURT II. WHEN LOVE COMES VISITING III. THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT IV. WHAT THE DOCTOR SAID V. ROSES AND THORNS VI. THE WORK OF THE GANGSTERS VII. THE CLOSER BOND VIII. THE PURITY LEAGUE AND ITS ANGEL IX. THE BUSY MART OF TRADE X. WHEN THE TRAIN COMES IN XI. THE POISONED NEEDLE XII. THE REVENGE OF JIMMIE THE MONK XIII. LORNA'S QUEST FOR PLEASURE XIV. CHARITY AND THE MULTITUDE OF SINS XV. THE FINISH

ILLUSTRATIONS

If ever prayer came from the depths of a broken heart, it was thatforlorn plea for a lost sister . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

"This is my friend, Sam Shepard, the theatrical manager, Miss Lorna. He's the man who can get you on the stage"

"I'm going to shoot to kill. Every court in the state will sustain apoliceman who shoots a white-slaver"

The deep tones of the stranger's voice filled Mary with a thrill ofloathing

Father and daughter were frantic with grief

The pretended philanthropist was cornered at last

TRAFFIC IN SOULS

CHAPTER I

NIGHT COURT

Officer 4434 beat his freezing hands together as he stood with his backto the snow-laden north-easter, which rattled the creaking signboardsof East Twelfth Street, and covered, with its merciful shroud of wetflakes, the ash-barrels, dingy stoops, gaudy saloon porticos and otherarchitectural beauties of the Avenue corner. 

Officer 4434 was on "fixed post. "

This is an institution of the New York police department which makes itpossible for citizens to locate, in time of need, a representative ofthe law. At certain street crossings throughout the boroughs bluecoatsare assigned to guard-duty during the night, where they can keep closewatch on the neighboring thoroughfares. The "fixed post" increases theefficiency of the service, but it is a bitter ordeal on the men. 

Officer 4434 shivered under his great coat. He pulled the storm hoodof his cap closer about his neck as he muttered an opinion, far frombeing as cold as the biting blast, concerning the Commissioner who hadinstalled the system. He had been on duty over an hour, and even hissturdy young physique was beginning to feel the strain of the Arctictemperature. 

"I wonder when Maguire is coming to relieve me?" muttered 4434, whensuddenly his mind left the subject, as his keen vision descried twostruggling figures a few yards down the dark side of Twelfth Street. 

There was no outcry for help. But 4434 knew his precinct too well towait for that. He quietly walked to the left corner and down towardthe couple. As he neared them the mist of the eddying snowflakesbecame less dense; he could discern a short man twisting the arm of atall woman, who seemed to be top heavy from an enormous black-plumedhat. The faces of the twain were still indistinct. The man whirledthe woman about roughly. She uttered a subdued moan of pain, and 4434, as he softly approached them, his footfalls muffled by the blanket ofwhite, could hear her pleading in a low tone with the man. 

"Aw, kid, I ain't got none . .. I swear I ain't. .. Oh, oh . .. Ye know Iwouldn't lie to ye, kid!"

"Nix, Annie. Out wid it, er I'll bust yer damn arm!"

"Jimmie, I ain't raised a nickel to-night . .. Dere ain't even a sailorout a night like dis. .. Oh, oh, kid, don't treat me dis way. .. "

Her voice died down to a gasp of pain. 

Officer 4434 was within ten feet of the couple by this time. Herecognized the type though not the features of the man, who had nowwrenched the woman's arm behind her so cruelly that she had fallen toher knees, in the snow. The fellow was so intent upon his quest formoney that he did not observe the approach of the policeman. 

But the woman caught a quick glimpse of the intruder into their"domestic" affairs. She tried to warn her companion. 

"Jimmie, dere's a. .. "

She did not finish, for her companion wished to end further argumentwith his own particular repartee. 

He swung viciously with his left arm and brought a hard fist across thewoman's pleading lips. She screamed and sank back limply. 

As she did so, Officer 4434 reached forward with a vise-like grip andclosed his tense fingers about the back of Jimmie's muscular neck. Holding his night stick in readiness for trouble, with that knackpeculiar to policemen, he yanked the tough backward and threw him tohis knees. Annie sprang to her feet. 

"Lemme go!" gurgled the surprised Jimmie, as he wriggled to get free. Without a word, the woman who had been suffering from his brutality, now sprang upon the rescuing policeman with the fury of a lionessrobbed of her cub. She clawed at the bluecoat's face and cursed himwith volubility. 

"I'll git you broke fer this!" groaned Jimmie, as 4434 held him to hisknees, while Annie tried to get her hold on the officer's neck. It wasa temptation to swing the night-stick, according to the laws of war, and then protect himself against the fury of the frenzied woman. But, this is an impulse which the policeman is trained to subdue--publicopinion on the subject to the contrary notwithstanding. Officer 4434knew the influence of the gangsters with certain politicians, who hadinfluence with the magistrates, who in turn meted out summaryreprimands and penalties to policemen un-Spartanlike enough to defendthemselves with their legal weapons against the henchmen of the EastSide politicians!

Annie had managed by no mean pugilistic ability to criss-cross fivepainful scratches with her nails, upon the policeman's face, despitehis attempt to guard himself. 

Jimmie, with tactical resourcefulness, had twisted around in such a waythat he delivered a strong-jaw nip on the right leg of the policeman. 

4434 suddenly released his hold on the man's neck, whipped out hisrevolver and fired it in the air. He would have used the signal forhelp generally available at such a time, striking the night stick uponthe pavement, but the thick snow would have muffled the resonant alarm. 

"Beat it, Annie, and git de gang!" cried out Jimmie as he scrambled tohis feet. The woman sped away obediently, as Officer 4434 closed inagain upon his prisoner. The gangster covered the retreat of the womanby grappling the policeman with arms and legs. 

The two fell to the pavement, and writhed in their struggle on the snow. 

Jimmie, like many of the gang men, was a local pugilist of no meanability. His short stature was equalized in fighting odds by atremendous bull strength. 4434, in his heavy overcoat, and with thestorm hood over his head and neck was somewhat handicapped. Even asthey struggled, the efforts of the nimble Annie bore fruit. Insurprisingly brief time a dozen men had rushed out from the neighboringsaloon, and were giving the doughty policeman more trouble than hecould handle. 

Suddenly they ran, however, for down the street came two speedingfigures in the familiar blue coats. One of the officers was shrillyblowing his whistle for reinforcements. He knew what to expect in agang battle and was taking no chances. 

Maguire, who had just come on to relieve 4434, lived up to his dutymost practically by catching the leg of the battling Jimmie, and givingit a wrestling twist which threw the tough with a thud on the pavement, clear of his antagonist. 

4434 rose to his feet stiffly, as his rescuers dragged Jimmie to astanding position. 

"Well, Burke, 'tis a pleasant little party you do be having, "volunteered Maguire. "Sure, and you've been rassling with Jimmie theMonk. Was he trying to pick yer pockets?"

"Naw, I wasn't doin' nawthin', an' I'm goin' ter git that rookie brokefer assaultin' me. I'm goin' ter write a letter to the Mayor!" growledJimmie. 

Officer Burke laughed a bit ruefully. 

He mopped some blood off his face, from the nail scratches of Jimmie'slady associate, and then turned toward the two officers. 

"He didn't pick my pockets--it was just the old story, of beating uphis woman, trying to get the money she made on the street to-night. When I tried to help her they both turned on me. "

"Faith, Burke, I thought you had more horse sense, " responded Maguire. "That's a dangerous thing to do with married folks, or them as ought tobe married. They'll fight like Kilkenny cats until the good Samaritancomes along and then they form a trust and beat up the Samaritan. "

"I think most women these days need a little beating up anyway, to keep'em from worrying about their troubles, " volunteered Officer Dexter. "I'd have been happier if I had learned that in time. "

"Say, nix on dis blarney, youse!" interrupted the Monk, who was tryingto wriggle out of the arm hold of Burke and Maguire. "I ain't gonterstand fer dis pinch wen I ain't done nawthin. "

A police sergeant, who had heard the whistle as he made his rounds, nowcame up. 

"What's the row?" he gruffly exclaimed. Burke explained. The sergeantshook his head. 

"You're wasting time, Burke, on this sort of stuff. When you've beenon the force a while longer you'll learn that it's the easiest thing tolook the other way when you see these men fighting with their women. The magistrates won't do a thing on a policeman's word alone. You justsee. Now you've got to go down to Night Court with this man, get acall down because you haven't got a witness, and this rummie gets setfree. Why, you'd think these magistrates had to apologize for therebeing a police force! The papers go on about the brutality of thepolice, and the socialists howl about Cossack methods, and theministers preach about graft and vice, and the reformers sit in theirmahogany chairs in the skyscraper offices and dictate poems about sin, and the cops have to walk around and get hell beat out of 'em by thesewops and kikes every time they tries to keep a little order!"

The sergeant turned to Maguire. 

"You know these gangs around here, Mack. Who's this guy's girl?"

"He's got three or four, sergeant, " responded the officer. "I guessthis one must be Dutch Annie. Was she all dolled up with about ahundred dollars' worth of ostrich feathers, Burke?"

"Yes--tall, and some fighter. "

"That's the one. Her hangout is over there on the corner, inShultberger's cabaret. We can get her now, maybe. "

The sergeant beckoned to Dexter. 

"Run this guy over to the station house, and put him down on theblotter for disorderly conduct, and assaulting an officer. You getonto your post, Maguire, or the Commish'll be shooting past here in amachine on the way to some ball at the Ritz, and will have us all oncharges. You come with me, Burke, and we'll nab that woman as amaterial witness. "

Burke and his superior crossed the street and quickly entered theornate portal of Shultberger's cabaret, which was in reality the annexto his corner barroom. 

As they strode in a waiter stood by a tuneless piano, upon which abloated "professor" was beating a tattoo of cheap syncopationaccompaniment of the advantages of "Bobbin' Up An' Down, " which waswarbled with that peculiarly raucous, nasal tenor so popular inTenderloin resorts. The musical waiter's jaw fell in the middle of abob, as he espied the blue uniforms. 

He disappeared behind a swinging door with the professional skill of astage magician. 

Sitting around the dilapidated wooden tables was a motley throng ofred-nosed women, loafers, heavy-jowled young aliens, and a scatteringof young girls attired in cheap finery; a prevailing color of chemicalyellow as to hair, and flaming red cheeks and lips. 

Instinctively the gathering rose for escape, but the sergeant strodeforward to one particular table, where sat a girl nursing a bleedingmouth. 

Burke remained by the door to shut off that exit. 

"Is this the one?" asked the sergeant, as he put his hands on the youngwoman's shoulder. 

Burke scrutinized her closely, responding quickly. 

"Yes!"

"Come on, you, " ordered the roundsman. "I want you. Quick!"

"Say, I ain't done a thing, what do ye want me fer?" whined the girl, as the sergeant pulled at her sleeve. The officer did not reply, buthe looked menacingly about him at the evil company. 

"If any of you guys starts anything I'm going to call out the reserves. Come on, Annie. "

The proprietor, Shultberger, now entered from the front, after awarning from his waiter. 

"Vot's dis, sergeant? Vot you buttin' in my place for? Ain't I inright?" he cried. 

"Shut up. This girl has been assaulting an officer, and I want her. Come on, now, or I'll get the wagon here, and then there will betrouble. "

Annie began to pull back, and it looked as though some of the toughswould interfere. But Shultberger understood his business. 

"Now, Annie, don't start nottings here. Go on vid de officer. I'llfix it up all right. But I don't vant my place down on de blotter. Who vas it--Jimmie?"

The girl began to cry, and gulped the glass of whiskey on the table asshe finally yielded to the tug of the sergeant. 

"Yes, it's Jimmie. An' he wasn't doin' a ting. Dese rookies is alwaysmakin' trouble fer me. "

She sobbed hysterically as the sergeant walked her out. Shultbergerpatted her on the shoulder reassuringly. 

"Dot's all right, Annie. I vouldn't let nodding happen to Jimmie. I'll bail him out and you too. Go along; dot's a good girl. " Heturned to his guests, and motioned to them to be silent. 

The "professor, " at the piano, used to such scenes, lulled the nervesof the company with a rag-time variation of "Oh, You Beautiful Doll, "and Burke, the sergeant and Annie went out into the night. 

The girl was taken to the station. The lieutenant looked questioninglyat Officer 4434. 

"Want to put her down for assault?" he asked. 

Burke looked at the unhappy creature. Her hair was half-down her back, and her lips swollen and bleeding from Jimmie's brutal blow. The cheaprouge on her face; the heavy pencilling of her brows, the crudelyapplied blue and black grease paint about her eyes, the tawdry pastenecklace around her powdered throat; the pitifully thin silk dress inwhich she had braved the elements for a few miserable dollars: allthese brought tears to the eyes of the young officer. 

He was sick at heart. 

The girl shivered and sobbed in that hysterical manner which indicatesweakness, emptiness, lack of soul--rather than sorrow. 

"Poor thing--I couldn't do it. I don't want to see her sent toBlackwell's Island. She's getting enough punishment every day--andevery night. "

"Well, she's made your face look like a railroad map. You're too soft, young fellow. I'll put her down as a material witness. Go wash thatblood off, and we'll send 'em both down to Night Court. You've doneyourself out of your relief butting in this way. Take a tip from me, and let these rummies fight it out among themselves after this as longas they don't mix up with somebody worth while. "

Burke wiped his eye with the back of his cold hand. It was not snowwhich had melted there. He was young enough in the police service tofeel the pathos of even such common situations as this. 

He turned quietly and went back to the washstand in the rear room ofthe station. The reserves were sitting about, playing checkers andcards. Some were reading. 

Half a dozen of the men, fond of the young policeman, chatted with him, and volunteered advice, to which Burke had no reply. 

"Don't start in mixing up with the Gas Tank Gang over one of thosegirls, Burke, for they're not worth it. "

"You'll have enough to do in this precinct to look after your own skin, and round up the street holdups, or get singed at a tenement fire. "

And so it went. 

The worldly wisdom of his fellows was far from encouraging. Yet, despite their cynical expressions, Burke knew that warm hearts andgallant chivalry were lodged beneath the brass buttons. 

There is a current notion among the millions of Americans who do notknow, and who have fortunately for themselves not been in the positionwhere they needed to know, that the policemen of New York are anorganized body of tyrannical, lying grafters who maintain their powerby secret societies, official connivance and criminal brute force. 

Taken by and large, there is no fighting organization in any army inthe world which can compare with the New York police force for physicalequipment, quick action under orders or upon the initiative required byemergencies, gallantry or _esprit de corps_. For salaries barely equalto those of poorly paid clerks or teamsters, these men risk their livesdaily, must face death at any moment, and are held under a disciplineno less rigorous than that of the regular army. Their problems aremore complex than those of any soldiery; they deal with fifty differentnationalities, and are forced by circumstances to act as judge andjury, as firemen, as life savers, as directories, as arbiters ofneighborhood squabbles and domestic wrangles. Their greatest servicesare rendered in the majority of cases which never call for arrest andprosecution. That there are many instances of petty "graft, " and that, in some cases, the "middle men" prey on the underworld cannot be denied. 

But it is the case against a certain policeman which receives theattention of the newspapers and the condemnation of the public, whilealmost unheeded are scores of heroic deeds which receive bare mentionin the daily press. For the misdeed of one bad policeman the gallantryand self-sacrifice of a hundred pass without appreciation. 

There have been but three recorded instances of cowardice in the annalsof the New York police force. The memory of them still rankles in thebosom of every member. And yet the performance of duty at the cost oflife and limb is regarded by the uniformed men as merely being "all inthe day's work. " The men are anxious to do their duty in every way, but political, religious, social and commercial influences arecontinually erecting stone walls across the path of that duty. 

Superhuman in wisdom, thrice blest in luck is the bluecoat whoconscientiously can live up to his own ideals, carry out the law aswritten by his superiors without being sent to "rusticate with thegoats, " or being demoted for stepping upon the toes of some of thosesame superiors!

Officer Bobbie Burke betook himself to the Night Court to lodge hiscomplaint against Jimmie the Monk. The woman, Dutch Annie, snivelingand sobbing, was lodged in a cell near the gangster before beingbrought before the rail to face the magistrate. 

Burke saw that they could not communicate with each other, and so hopedthat he could have his own story accepted by the magistrate. He stoodby the door of the crowded detention room, which opened into a largercourtroom, where the prisoners were led one by one to the prisoner'sdock--in this case, a hand-rail two feet in front of the long desk ofthe judge, while that worthy was seated on a platform which enabled himto look down at the faces of the arraigned. 

It was an apparently endless procession. 

The class of arrests was monotonous. Three of every four cases werethose of street women who had been arrested by "plain clothes" men ordetectives for solicitation on the street. 

The accusing officer took a chair at the left of the magistrate. Theuniformed attendant handed the magistrate the affidavits of complaint. The judge mechanically scrawled his name at the bottom of the papers, glanced at the words of the arraignments, and then scowled over theedge of his desk at the flashily dressed girls before him. They allseemed slight variations on the same mould. 

Perhaps one girl would simulate some hysterical sobs, and begin byprotesting her innocence. Another would be hard and indifferent. Athird, indignant. 

"What about this, officer?" the judge would ask. "Where did you seethis woman, what did you say, what did she say, and what happened?"

The detective, in a voice and manner as mechanical as that of thejudge, would mumble his oft repeated story, giving the exact minute ofhis observations, the actions of the woman in accosting differentpedestrians and in her final approach to him. 

"How many times before have you been arrested, girl?" the magistratewould growl. 

Sometimes the girls would admit the times; in most cases their memorieswere defective, until the accusing officer would cite past history. This girl had been arrested and paroled once before; that one had beensent to "the Island" for thirty days; the next one was an habitualoffender. It was a tragic monotony. Sometimes the magistrate wouldsummon the sweet-faced matron to have a talk with some young girl, evidently a "green one" for whom there might be hope. There was morekindliness and effort to reform the prisoners behind those piercingeyes of the judge than one might have supposed to hear him drone outhis judgment: "Thirty days, Molly"; "Ten dollars, Aggie--the Islandnext time, sure"; "Five dollars for you, Sadie, " and so on. There wasa weary, hopeless look in the magistrate's eyes, had you studied himclose at hand. He knew, better than the reformers, of the horrors ofthe social evil, at the very bottom of the cup of sin. Better thanthey could he understand the futility of garrulous legislation at theState Capitol, to be offset by ignorance, avarice, weakness and diseasein the congestion of the big, unwieldy city. When he fined the girlshe knew that it meant only a hungry day, one less silk garment orperhaps a beating from an angry and disappointed "lover. " When he sentthem to the workhouse their activities were merely discontinued for awhile to learn more vileness from companions in their imprisonment; tomake for greater industry--busier vice and quicker disease upon theirreturn to the streets. The occasional cases in which there was somechance for regeneration were more welcome to him, even, than to theweak and sobbing girls, hopeless with the misery of their earlydefeats. Yet, the magistrate knew only too well the miserable minimumof cases which ever resulted in real rescue and removal from the sordidexistence. 

Once as low as the rail of the Night Court--a girl seldom escaped fromthe slime into which she had dragged herself. And yet _had_ shedragged herself there? Was _she_ to blame? Was she to pay theconsequences in the last Reckoning of Accounts?

This thought came to Officer Bobbie Burke as he watched the horribledrama drag monotonously through its brief succession of sordid scenes. 

The expression of the magistrate, the same look of sympathetic miseryon the face of the matron, and even on many of the detectives, automatons who had chanted this same official requiem of dead souls, years of nights . .. Not a sombre tone of the gruesome picture was lostto Burke's keen eyes. 

"Some one has to pay; some one has to pay! I wonder who?" mutteredOfficer 4434 under his breath. 

There were cases of a different caliber. Yet Burke could see in themwhat Balzac called "social coördination. "

Now a middle-aged woman, with hair unkempt, and hat awry, maudlin tearsin her swollen eyes, and swaying as she held the rail, looked shiftilyup into the magistrate's immobile face. 

"You've been drunk again, Mrs. Rafferty? This is twice during the lastfortnight that I've had you here. "

"Yis, yer honor, an me wid two foine girls left home. Oh, Saint Maryprotect me, an' oi'm a (hic) bad woman. Yer honor, it's the fault ofme old man, Pat. (Hic) Oi'm _not_ a bad woman, yer honor. "

The magistrate was kind as he spoke. 

"And what does Pat do?"

"He beats me, yer honor (hic), until Oi sneak out to the familyintrance at the corner fer a quiet nip ter fergit it. An' the girls, they've been supportin' me (hic), an' payin the rint, an' buyin' thevittles, an' (hic) it's a dog's life they lead, wid all their work. When they go out wid dacint young min (hic), Pat cusses the young min, an' beats the girls whin they come home (hic). "

Here the woman broke down, sobbing, while the attendant kept her fromswaying and falling. 

"There, there, Mrs. Rafferty. I'll suspend sentence this time. Butdon't let it happen another time. You have Pat arrested and I'll teachhim something about treating you right. "

"My God, yer honor (hic), the worst of it is it's me two girls--theyain't got no home, but a drunken din, the next thing I knows they'll bearristed (hic) and brought up before ye like these other poor divvels. Yer honor, it's drunken Pats and min like him that's bringin' thesepoor girls here--it ain't the cops an' the sports (hic), yer honor. "

The woman staggered as the magistrate quietly signaled the attendant tolead her through the gate, and up the aisle of the court to the outerdoor. 

As she passed by the spectators, two or three richly dressed youngwomen giggled and nudged the dapper youths with whom they were sitting. 

"Silence!" cried the magistrate tersely. "This is not a cabaret show. I don't want any seeing-New-York parties here. Sergeant, put thosepeople out of the court. "

The officer walked up the aisle and ordered the society buds and theirescorts to leave. 

"Why, we're studying sociology, " murmured one girl. "It's a verystupid thing, however, down here. "

"So vulgar, my dear, " acquiesced her friend. "There's nothinginteresting anyway. Just the same old story. "

They noisily arose, and walked out, while Officer Burke could hear oneof the gilded youths exclaim in a loud voice as they reached the outercorridor:

"Come on, let's go up to Rector's for a little tango, and see some reallife. .. . "

The magistrate who had heard it tapped his pen on the desk, and lookedquizzically at the matron. 

"They are doubtless preparing some reform legislation for the suffrageplatform, Mrs. Grey, and I have inadvertently delayed the millennium. Ah, a pity!"

Burke was impatient for the calling of his own case. He was tired. Hewould have been hungry had he not been so nauseated by the sickeningenvironment. He longed for the fresh air; even the snowstorm wasbetter than this. 

But his turn had not come. The next to be called was another answer tohis mental question. 

A young woman with a blackened eye and a bleeding cheek was brought inby a fat, jolly officer, who led a burly, sodden man with him. 

The charge was quarreling and destroying the furniture of a neighbor inwhose flat the fight had taken place. 

"Who started it?" asked the magistrate. 

"She did, your honor. She ain't never home when I wants my vittlescooked, and she blows my money so there ain't nothing in the house toeat for meself. She's always startin' things, and she did this timewhen I tells her to come on home. .. . "

"Just a minute, " interrupted the magistrate. "What is the cause ofthis, little woman? Who struck you on the eye?"

The woman's lips trembled, and she glanced at the big fellow besideher. He glowered down at her with a threatening twist of his mouth. 

"Why, your honor, you see, the baby was sick, and Joe, he went out withthe boys pay night, and we didn't have a cent in the flat, and I hadto. .. "

"Shut up, or I'll bust you when I get you alone!" muttered Joe, untilthe judge pounded on the table with his gavel. 

"You won't be where you can bust her!" sharply exclaimed themagistrate. "Go on, little woman. When did he hit you?"

The wife trembled and hesitated. The magistrate nodded encouragingly. 

"Why weren't you home?" he asked softly. 

"My neighbor, Mrs. Goldberg, likes the baby, and she was showing me howto make some syrup for its croup, your honor, sir. We haven't got anylight--it's a quarter gas meter, and there wasn't anything to cookwith, and I had the baby in her flat, and Joe he just got home--hehadn't been there . .. Since . .. Saturday night . .. I didn't haveanything to eat--since then, myself. "

Joe whirled about threateningly, but the officer caught his upliftedarm. 

"She lies. She ain't straight, that's what it is. Hanging around them_Sheenies_, and sayin' it's the baby. She lies!"

The little woman's face paled, and she staggered back, her tremulousfingers clutching at the empty air as her great eyes opened with horrorat his words. 

"I'm not _straight_? Oh, oh, Joe! You're killing me!"

She moaned as though the man had beat her again. 

"Six months!" rasped out the magistrate between his teeth. "And I'mgoing to put you under a peace bond when you get out. Little woman, you're dismissed. "

Joe was roughly jostled out into the detention room again by therosy-cheeked policeman, whose face was neither so jolly nor rosy now. The woman sobbed, and leaned across the rail, her outstretched armsheld pleadingly toward the magistrate. 

"Oh, judge, sir . .. Don't send him up for six months. How can the babyand I live? We have no one, not one soul to care for us, and I'mexpecting. .. "

Mercifully her nerves gave way, and she fainted. The gruff old courtattendant, now as gentle as a nurse, caught her, and with the gateman, carried her at the judge's direction, toward his own private office, whither hurried Mrs. Grey, the matron. 

The magistrate blew his nose, rubbed his glasses, and irritably lookedat the next paper. 

"Jimmie Olinski. Officer Burke. Hurry up, I want to call recess!" heexclaimed. 

Burke, in a daze of thoughts, pulled himself together, and then tookthe arm of Jimmie the Monk, who advanced with manner docile andobsequious. He was not a stranger to the path to the rail. Anotherofficer led Annie forward. Burke took the chair. 

"Don't waste my time, " snapped the magistrate. "What's this? Anotherfight?"

Officer 4434 explained the situation. 

"Do you want to complain, woman?" asked the magistrate. 

"Complain, why yer honor, dis cop is lyin' like a house afire. Dis isme gent' friend, an' I got me face hoit by dis cop hittin' me when hebutted into our conversation. Dis cop assaulted us both, yer honor. "

"That'll do. Shut up. You know what this is, don't you, Burke? Thesame old story. Why do you waste time on this sort of thing unlessyou've got a witness? You know one of these women will never testifyagainst the man, no matter how much he beats and robs her. "

"But, your honor, the man assaulted her and assaulted me, " began Burke. 

"She doesn't count. That's the pity of it, poor thing. I'll hold himover to General Sessions for a criminal trial on assaulting you. "

In the back of the room a stout man in a fur overcoat arose. 

It was Shultberger. He came down the aisle. 

As he did so, unnoticed by Officer 4434, three of Shultberger'scompanions arose and quietly left the courtroom by the front entrance. 

"Oxcuse me, Chudge, but may I offer bail for my friend, little Jimmie?"

He had some papers in his hand, for this was what might be called aby-product of his saloon business; Shultberger was always ready for theassistance of his clients. 

The magistrate looked sharply at him. "Down here again, eh? I'd thinkthose deeds and that old brick house would be worn out by this time, Shultberger, from the frequency with which you juggle it against theliberty of your friends. "

"It's a fine house, Chudge, and was assessed. "

"Yes--go file your papers, " snapped the magistrate. "You can reportback to your station house, officer. There is no charge against thisgirl--she is merely held as material witness. She'll never testify. She's discharged. Take my advice, Burke, and play safe with thesegun-men. You're in a neighborhood which needs good precaution as wellas good intentions. Good night. "

The magistrate rose, declaring a recess for one hour, and Officer 4434left the court through the police entrance. 

As he turned the corner of the old Court building, he repeated tohimself the question which had forced itself so strongly upon him: "Whois to blame? Who has to pay? The men or the women?"

Again he saw, mentally, the sobbing, drunken Irish woman with the twodaughters who had no home life. He saw the brutal Joe, and hisfainting wife as he cast the horrible words "not straight" into hersoul. He saw that the answer to his question, and the shallow societyyoungsters, who had left the courtroom to see "real life" at Rector's, were not disconnected from that answer. 

But he did not see a dark form behind a stone buttress at the corner ofthe old building. He did not see a brick which came hurtling throughthe air from behind him. 

He merely fell forward, mutely--with a fractured skull!

CHAPTER II

WHEN LOVE COMES VISITING

It was a very weak young man who sojourned for the next few weeks inthe hospital, hovering so near the shadow of the Eternal Fixed Postthat nurses and internes gave him up many times. 

"It's only his fine young body, with a fine clean mind and fine livingbehind it, that has brought him around, nurse, " said Doctor MacFarland, the police surgeon of Burke's precinct, as he came to make his dailycall. 

"He's been very patient, sir, and it's a blessing to see him able tosit up now, and take an interest in things. Many a man's mind has beena blank after such a blow and such a fracture. He's a great favorite, here, " said the pretty nurse. 

Old Doctor MacFarland gave her a comical wink as he answered. 

"Well, nurse, beware of these great favorites. I like him myself, andevery officer on the force who knows him does as well. But the life ofa policeman's wife is not quite as jolly and rollicking as that of agrateful patient who happens to be a millionaire. So, bide your time. "

He chuckled and walked on down the hall, while the young woman blusheda carmine which made her look very pretty as she entered the privateroom which had been reserved for Bobbie Burke. 

"Is there anything you would like for a change?" she asked. 

"Well, I can't read, and I can't take up all your time talking, so Iwish you'd let me get out of this room into one of the wards in awheel-chair, nurse, " answered Burke. "I'd like to see some of theother folks, if it's permissible. "

"That's easy. The doctor said you could sit up more each day now. Hesays you'll be back on duty in another three weeks--or maybe six. "

Burke groaned. 

"Oh, these doctors, really, I feel as well now as I ever did, exceptthat my head is just a little wobbly and I don't believe I could beatLongboat in a Marathon. But, you see, I'll be back on duty before anythree weeks go by. "

Burke was wheeled out into the big free ward of the hospital by one ofthe attendants. He had never realized how much human misery could beconcentrated into one room until that perambulatory trip. 

It was not a visiting day, and many of the sufferers tossed aboutrestless and unhappy. 

About some of the beds there were screens--to keep the sight of theirunhappiness and anguish from their neighbors. 

Here was a man whose leg had been amputated. His entire life wasblighted because he had stuck to his job, coupling freight cars, whenthe engineer lost his head. 

There, on that bed, was an old man who had saved a dozen youngstersfrom a burning Christmas tree, and was now paying the penalty withmonths of torture. 

Yonder poor fellow, braving the odds of the city, had left his countrytown, sought labor vainly, until he was found starving rather than beg. 

As a policeman, Burke had seen many miseries in his short experience onthe force; as an invalid he had been initiated into the second degreein this hospital ward. He wondered if there could be anything morebitter. There was--his third and final degree in the ritual of life:but that comes later on in our story. 

After chatting here and there with a sufferer, passing a friendly wordof encouragement, or spinning some droll old yarn to cheer up another, Bobbie had enough. 

"Say, it's warm looking outside. Could I get some fresh air on one ofthe sun-porches?" he asked his steersman. 

"Sure thing, cap. I'll blanket you up a bit, and put you through yourpaces on the south porch. "

Bobbie was rolled out on the glass protected porch into the blessedrays of the sun. He found another traveler using the same mode ofconveyance, an elderly man, whose pallid face, seamed with lines ofsuffering, still showed the jolly, unconquerable spirit which keepssome men young no matter how old they grow. 

"Well, it's about the finest sunlight I've seen for many a day. How doyou like it, young man?"

"It's the first I've had for so many weeks that I didn't believe therewas any left in the world, " responded Burke. "If we could only get outfor a walk instead of this Atlantic City boardwalk business it would bebetter, wouldn't it?"

His companion nodded, but his genial smile vanished. 

"Yes, but that's something I'll never get again. "

"What, never again? Why, surely you're getting along to have thembring you out here?"

"No, my boy. I've a broken hip, and a broken thigh. Crushed in anelevator accident, back in the factory, and I'm too old a dog to learnto do such tricks as flying. I'll have to content myself with one ofthese chairs for the rest of my worthless old years. "

The old man sighed, and such a sigh!

Bobbie's heart went out to him, and he tried to cheer him up. 

"Well, sir, there could be worse things in life--you are not blind, nordeaf--you have your hands and they look like hands that can do a lot. "

His neighbor looked down at his nervous, delicate hands and smiled, forhis was a valiant spirit. 

"Yes, they've done a lot. They'll do a lot more, for I've been lyingon my back with nothing to do for a month but think up things for themto do. I'm a mechanic, you know, and fortunately I have my hands andmy memory, and years of training. I've been superintendent of afactory; electrical work, phonographs, and all kinds of instrumentslike that were my specialty. But, they don't want an old man backthere, now. Too many young bloods with college training and bookknowledge. I couldn't superintend much work now--this wheel chair ofmine is built for comfort rather than exceeding the speed limit. "

Burke drew him out, and learned another pitiful side of life. 

Burke's new acquaintance was an artisan of the old school, albeit withthe skill and modernity of a man who keeps himself constantly in theforefront by youthful thinking and scientific work. He had devoted thebest years of his life to the interests of his employer. When asplendid factory had been completed, largely through the results of hisexecutive as well as his technical skill, and an enormous fortuneaccumulated from the growing business of the famous plant, thepresident of the company had died. His son, fresh from college, assumed the management of the organization, and the services of oldBarton were little appreciated by the younger man or his board ofdirectors. It was a familiar story of modern business life. 

"So, there you have it, young man. Why I should bother you with mytroubles I don't quite understand myself. In a hospital it's likeshipboard; we know a man a short while, and isolated from the rest ofthe world, we are drawn closer than with the acquaintances of years. In my case it's just the tragedy of age. There is no man so importantbut that a business goes on very well without him. I realized it withyoung Gresham, even before I was hurt in the factory. They had takenpractically all I had to give, and it was time to cast me aside. As asort of charity, Gresham has sent me four weeks' salary, with a lettersaying that he can do no more, and has appointed a young electricalengineer, from his own class in Yale, to take my place. They need anactive man, not an invalid. My salary has been used up for expenses, and for the living of my two daughters, Mary and Lorna. What I'll dowhen I get back home, I don't know. "

He shook his head, striving to conceal the despondency which wastugging at his heart. 

Burke was cheery as he responded. 

"Well, Mr. Barton, you're not out of date yet. The world ofelectricity is getting bigger every day. You say that you have mademany patents which were given to the Gresham company because you weretheir employee. Now, you can turn out a few more with your own name onthem, and get the profits yourself. That's not so bad. I'll be out ofhere myself, before long, and I'll stir myself, to see that you get achance. I can perhaps help in some way, even if I'm only a policeman. "

The older man looked at him with a comical surprise. 

"A policeman? A cop? Well, well, well! I wouldn't have known it!"

Bobbie Burke laughed, and he had a merry laugh that did one's soul goodto hear. 

"We're just human beings, you know--even if the ministers and themuckrakers do accuse us of being blood brothers to the devil and AliBaba. "

"I never saw a policeman out of uniform before--that's why it seemsfunny, I suppose. But I wouldn't judge you to be the type which Iusually see in the police. How long have you been in the service?"

Here was Bobby's cue for autobiography, and he realized that, as amatter of neighborliness, he must go as far as his friend. 

"Well, I'm what they call a rookie. It's my second job as a rookie, however, for I ran away from home several years ago, and joined thearmy. I believed all the pretty pictures they hang up in barber shopsand country post-offices, and thought I was going to be a globetrotter. Do you remember that masterpiece which shows the gallantbugler tooting the 'Blue Bells of Scotland, ' and wearing a straightfront jacket that would make a Paris dressmaker green with envy? Well, sir, I believed that poster, and the result was that I went to thePhilippines and helped chase Malays, Filipinos, mosquitoes, and germs;curried the major's horse, swept his front porch, polished his shoes, built fences and chicken houses, and all the rest of the things asoldier does. "

"But, why didn't you stay at home?"

Burke dropped his eyes for an instant, and then looked up unhappily. 

"I had no real home. My mother and father died the same year, when Iwas eighteen. I don't know how it all happened. I had gone to collegeout West for one year, when my uncle sent for me to come back to thetown where we lived and get to work. My father was rather well to do, and I couldn't quite understand it. But, my uncle was executor of theestate, and when I had been away that season it was all done. Therewas no estate when I got back, and there was nothing to do but to workfor my uncle in the store which he said he had bought from my father, and to live up in the little room on the third floor where the cookused to sleep, in the house where I was born, which he said he hadbought from the estate. It was a queer game. My father left norecords of a lot of things, and so there you know why I ran away tolisten to that picture bugle. I re-enlisted, and at the end of mysecond service I got sick of it. I was a sergeant and was going totake the examination for second lieutenant when I got malaria, and Idecided that the States were good enough for me. The Colonel knew thePolice Commissioner here. He sent me a rattling good letter. I neverexpected to use it. But, after I hunted a job for six months and spentevery cent I had, I decided that soldiering was a good training forsweeping front porches and polishing rifles, but it didn't pay much gasand rent in the big city. The soldier is a baby who always takesorders from dad, and dad is the government. I decided I'd use whattraining I had, so I took that letter to the Commissioner. I gotthrough the examinations, and landed on the force. Then a brick with anice sharp corner landed on the back of my head, and I landed up here. And that's all there is to _my_ tale of woe. "

The old man looked at him genially. 

"Well, you've had your own hard times, my boy. None of us finds it allas pretty as the picture of the bugler, whether we work in a factory, askyscraper or on a drill ground. But, somehow or other, I don'tbelieve you'll be a policeman so very long. "

Bob leaned back in his chair and drank in the invigorating air, as itwhistled in through the open casement of the glass-covered porch. There was a curious twinkle in his eye, as he replied:

"I'm going to be a policeman long enough to 'get' the gangsters that'got' me, Mr. Barton. And I believe I'm going to try a littlehousecleaning, or white-wings work around that neighborhood, just as amatter of sport. It doesn't hurt to try. "

And Burke's jaw closed with a determined click, as he smiled grimly. 

Barton was about to speak when the door from the inner ward openedbehind them. 

"Father! Father!" came a fresh young voice, and the old man turnedaround in his chair with an exclamation of delight. 

"Why, Mary, my child. I'm so pleased. How did you get to see me?It's not a visiting day. "

A pretty girl, whose delicate, oval face was half wreathed with wavesof brown curls, leaned over the wheeled chair and kissed the oldgentleman, as she placed some carnations on his lap. 

She caught his hand in her own little ones and patted it affectionately. 

"You dear daddy. I asked the superintendent of the hospital to let mein as a special favor to-day, for to-morrow is the regular visitingday, and I can't come then--neither can Lorna. "

"Why, my dear, where are you going?"

The girl hesitated, as she noticed Burke in the wheel-chair so close athand. By superhuman effort Bobbie was directing his attention to thedistant roofs, counting the chimneys as he endeavored to keep his mindoff a conversation which did not concern him. 

"Oh, my dear, excuse me. Mr. Burke, turn around. I'd like to have youmeet my daughter, Mary. "

Bobbie willingly took the little hand, feeling a strange embarrassmentas he looked up into a pair of melting blue eyes. 

"It's a great pleasure, " he began, and then could think of nothing moreto say. Mary hesitated as well, and her father asked eagerly: "Whycan't you girls come here to-morrow, my dear? By another visiting dayI hope to be back home. "

"Father, we have----" she hesitated, and Bobbie understood. 

"I'd better be wheeling inside, Mr. Barton, and let you have the visitout here, where it's so nice. It's only my first trip, you know--solet me call my steersman. "

"No secrets, no secrets, " began Barton, but Bobbie had beckoned to theward attendant. The man came out, and, at Burke's request, started towheel him inside. 

"Won't you come and visit me, sir, in my little room? I get lonely, you know, and have a lot of space. I'm so glad to have seen you, MissBarton. "

"Mr. Burke is going to be one of my very good friends, Mary. He'scoming around to see us when I get back home. Won't that be pleasant?"

Mary looked at Bobbie's honest, mobile face, and saw the splendidmanliness which radiated from his earnest, friendly eyes. Perhaps shesaw just a trifle more in those eyes; whatever it was, it was notdispleasing. 

She dropped her own gaze, and softly said:

"Yes, father. He will be very welcome, if he is your friend. "

On her bosom was a red rose which the florist had given her when shepurchased the flowers for her father. Sometimes even florists arehuman, you know. 

"Good afternoon; I'll see you later, " said Bobbie, cheerily. 

"You haven't any flowers, Mr. Burke. May I give you this little one?"asked Mary, as she unpinned the rose. 

Burke flushed. He smiled, bashfully, and old Barton beamed. 

"Thank you, " said Bobbie, and the attendant wheeled him on into his ownroom. 

"Nurse, could you get me a glass of water for this rose?" asked Bobbie. 

"Certainly, " said the pretty nurse, with a curious glance at the redblossom. "It's very pretty. It's just a bud and, if you keep itfresh, will last a long time. "

She placed it on the table by his cot. 

As she left the room, she looked again at the rose. 

Sometimes even nurses are human. 

And Bobbie looked at the rose. It was the sweetest rose he had everseen. He hoped that it would last a long, long time. 

"I will try to keep it fresh, " he murmured, as he awkwardly rolled overinto his bed. 

Sometimes even policemen are human, too. 

CHAPTER III

THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT

Officer Burke was back again at his work on the force. He was a triflepale, and the hours on patrol duty and fixed post seemed trebly long, for even his sturdy physique was tardy in recuperating from thatvicious shock at the base of his brain. 

"Take it easy, Burke, " advised Captain Sawyer, "you have never had aharder day in uniform than this one. Those two fires, the work at thelines with the reserves and your patrol in place of Dexter, who is laidup with his cold, is going it pretty strong. "

"That's all right, Captain. I'm much obliged for your interest. But alittle more work to-night won't hurt me. I'll hurry strength along bykeeping up this hustling. People who want to stay sick generallysucceed. Doctor MacFarland is looking after me, so I am not worried. "

Bobbie left the house with his comrades to relieve the men on patrol. 

It was late afternoon of a balmy spring day. 

The weeks since he had been injured had drifted into months, and thereseemed many changes in the little world of the East Side. This storehad failed; that artisan had moved out, and even two or three fruitdealers whom Bobbie patronized had disappeared. 

In the same place stood other stands, managed by Italians who lookedlike caricatures drawn by the same artist who limned their predecessors. 

"It must be pretty hard for even the Italian Squad to tell all thesefellows apart, Tom, " said Bobbie, as they stood on the corner by one ofthe stalls. 

"Sure, lad. All Ginnies look alike to me. Maybe that's why they carveeach other up every now and then at them little shindigs of theirs. Little family rows, they are, you know. I guess they add a few marksof identification, just for the family records, " replied Tom Dolan, anold man on the precinct. "However, I get along with 'em all right bykeeping my eye out for trouble and never letting any of 'em get mefirst. They're all right, as long as you smile at 'em. But they'retricky, tricky. And when you hurt a Wop's vanity it's time to get ahalf-nelson on your night-stick!"

They separated, Dolan starting down the garbage-strewn side street tochase a few noisy push-cart merchants who, having no other customers inview, had congregated to barter over their respective wares. 

"Beat it, you!" ordered Dolan. "This ain't no Chamber of Commerce. Git!"

With muttered imprecation the peddlers pushed on their carts to makeplace for a noisy, tuneless hurdy-gurdy. On the pavement at its side adozen children congregated--none over ten--to dance the turkey trot andthe "nigger, " according to the most approved Bowery artistry of"spieling. "

"Lord, no wonder they fall into the gutter when they grow up, " thoughtBobbie. "They're sitting in it from the time they get out of theirswaddling rags. "

Bobbie walked up to the nearby fruit merchant. 

"How much is this apple, Tony?"

The Italian looked at him warily, and then smirked. 

"Eet's nothing toa you, signor. I'ma da policeman's friend. You takahim. "

Bobbie laughed, as he fished out a nickel from his pocket. He shookhis head, as he replied. 

"No, Tony, I don't get my apples from the 'policeman's friend. ' I canpay for them. You know all of us policemen aren't grafters--even onthe line of apples and peanuts. "

The Italian's eyes grew big. 

"Well, you'ra de first one dat offer to maka me de pay, justa de same. Eet's a two centa, eef you insist. "

He gave Bobbie his change, and the young man munched away on the freshfruit with relish. The Italian gave him a sunny grin, and thenvolunteered:

"Youa de new policeman, eh?"

"I have been in the hospital for more than a month, so that's why youhaven't seen me. How long have you been on this corner? There wasanother man here when I came this way last. "

"Si, signor. That my cousin Beppo. But he's gone back to It'. He hadsome money--he wanta to keep eet, so he go while he can. "

"What do you mean by that?"

"I don'ta wanta talk about eet, signor, " said the Italian, with astrange look. "Eet'sa bad to say I was his cousin even. "

The dealer looked worried, and naturally Bobbie became curious and moreinsistent. 

"You can tell me, if it's some trouble. Maybe I can help you some timeif you're afraid of any one. "

The Italian shook his head, pessimistically. 

"No, signor. Eet'sa better I keep what you call de mum. "

"Did he blow up somebody with a bomb? Or was it stiletto work?" askedBobbie, as he threw away the core of the apple, to observe it greedilycaptured by a small, dirty-faced urchin by the curb. 

The fruit merchant looked into Officer Burke's face, and, as others haddone, was inspired by its honesty and candor. He felt that here mightbe a friend in time of trouble. Most of the policemen he knew wereaustere and cynical. He leaned toward Burke and spoke in a subduedtone. 

"Poor Beppo, he have de broken heart. He was no Black Hand--he wouldano usa de stiletto on a cheecken, he so kinda, gooda man. He justaleave disa country to keepa from de suicide. "

"Why, that's strange! Tell me about it. Poor fellow!"

"He'sa engag-ed to marry de pretty Maria Cenini, de prettiest girl inour village, back in It'--excepta my wife. Beppo, he senda on demoney, so she can coma dis country and marry him. Dat wasa four weekago she shoulda be here. But, signor, whena Beppo go toa de Battery tomeet her froma da Ellis Island bigga boat he no finda her. "

"Did she die?"

"Oh, signor, Beppo, he wisha she hadda died. He tooka de early boat tomeeta her, signor, and soma ona tella de big officier at de Batteryhe'sa da cousin of her sweeta heart. She goa wid him, signor, andBeppo never finda her. "

"Why, you don't mean the girl was abducted?"

"Signor, whatever eet was, Beppo hear from one man from our village wholeeve in our village dat he see poor Maria weed her face all paint, andlocked up in de tougha house in Newark two weeks ago. Oh, _madre dio_, signor, she's a da bad girl! Beppo, he nearly killa his friend fortell him, and den he go to Newark to looka for her at de house. Butshe gone, and poor Beppo he was de pinched for starting de fight in dehouse. He pay twanty-five de dols, and coma back here. De nextamorning a beeg man come to Beppo, and he say: 'Wop, you geet out displace, eef you tella de police about dees girl, ' Dassal. "

Burke looked into the nervous, twitching face of the poor Italian, andrealized that here was a deeper tragedy than might be guessed by apasserby. The man's eyes were wet, and he convulsively fumbled at thecorduroy coat, which he had doubtless worn long before he ever soughtthe portals of the Land of Liberty. 

"Oh, signor. Data night Beppo he was talk to de policaman, justa likeme. He say no word, but dat beega man he musta watch, for desagang-men dey busta de stand, and dey tella Beppo to geet out or deybusta heem. Beppo he tell me I can hava de stand eef I pay him someeacha week. I take it--and now I am afraid de busta me!"

Bobbie laid a comforting hand upon the man's heaving shoulder. 

"There, don't you worry. Don't tell anyone else you're his cousin, andI won't either. You don't need to be afraid of these gang-men. Justbe careful and yell for the police. The trouble with you Italians isthat you are afraid to tell the police anything when you are treatedbadly. Your cousin should have reported this case to the Ellis Islandauthorities. They would have traced that girl and saved her. "

The man looked gratefully into Burke's eyes, as the tears ran down hisface. 

"Oh, signor, eef all de police were lika you we be not afraid. "

Just then he dropped his eyes, and Burke noticed that his hand trembledas he suddenly reached for a big orange and held it up. The man spokewith a surprising constraint, still holding his look upon the fruit. 

"Signor, here's a fine orange. You wanta buy heem?" In a whisper headded: "Eet is de bigga man who told my cousin to get outa da country!"

Bobbie in astonishment turned around and beheld two pedestrians whowere walking slowly past, both staring curiously at the Italian. 

He gave an exclamation of surprise as he noticed that one of the menwas no less a personage than Jimmie the Monk. The man with him was abig, raw-boned Bowery character of pugilistic build. 

"Why, I thought that scoundrel would have been tried and sentenced bythis time, " murmured the officer. "I know they told me his case hadbeen postponed by his lawyer, an alderman. But this is one on me. "

The smaller man caught Burke's eye and gave him an insolent laugh. Heeven stopped and muttered something to his companion. 

Burke's blood was up in an instant. 

He advanced quickly toward the tough. Jimmie sneered, as he stood hisground, confident in the security of his political protection. 

"Move on there, " snapped Burke. "This is no loafing place. "

"Aaaah, go chase sparrers, " snarled Jimmie the Monk. "Who ye think yertalking to, rookie?"

Now, Officer Burke was a peaceful soul, despite his military training. His short record on the force had been noteworthy for his ability todisperse several incipient riots, quiet more than one brawl, and tameseveral bad men without resorting to rough work. But there was arankling in his spirit which overcame the geniality which had beenreigning in his heart so short a time before. 

He was tired. He was weak from his recent confinement. But thefighting blood of English and some Irish ancestors stirred in his veins. 

He walked quietly up to the Monk, and his voice was low, his wordscalm, as he remarked: "You clear out of this neighborhood. I am goingto put you where you belong the first chance I get. And I don't wantany of your impudence now. Move along. "

Jimmie mistook the quiet manner for respect and a timid memory of therecent retirement from active service. 

He spread his legs, and, with a wink to his companion, he began, withthe strident rasp of tone which can seldom be heard above FourteenthStreet and east of Third Avenue. 

"Say, bo. Do you recollect gittin' a little present? Well, listen, dere's a Christmas tree of dem presents comin' to you ef ye tries anymore of dis stuff. I'm in _right_ in dis district, don't fergit it. Ye tink's I'm going to de Island? Wipe dat off yer memory, too. W'y, say, I kin git yer buttons torn off and yer shield put in de scrap heapby de Commish if I says de woid down on Fourteenth Street, at debailiwick. "

"I know who was back of the assault on me, Monk, and let me tell youI'm going to get the man who threw it. Now, you get!"

Burke raised his right hand carelessly to the side of his collar, as hepressed up close to the gangster. The big man at his side came nearer, but as the policeman did not raise his club, which swung idly by itsleather thong, to his left wrist, he was as unprepared for whathappened as Jimmie. 

"Why you----" began the latter, with at least six ornate oaths whichout-tarred the vocabulary of any jolly, profane tar who ever swore. 

Burke's hand, close to his own shoulder, and not eight inches away fromJimmie's leering jowl, closed into a very hard fist. Before the toughknew what had hit him that nearby fist had sent him reeling into thegutter from a short shoulder jab, which had behind it every ounce ofweight in the policeman's swinging body. 

Jimmie lay there. 

The other man's hand shot to his hip pocket, but the officer's ownrevolver was out before he could raise the hand again. Army practicecame handy to Burke in this juncture. 

"Keep your hand where it is, " exclaimed the policeman, "or you'll get abullet through it. "

"You dog, I'll get you sent up for this, " muttered the big man. 

But with his revolver covering the fellow, Burke quickly "frisked" thehip pocket and discovered the bulk of a weapon. This was enough. 

"I fixed the Monk. Now, you're going up for the Sullivan Law againstcarrying firearms. You're number one, with me, in settling up thisscore!" Jimmie had shown signs of awakening from the slumber inducedby Burke's sturdy right hand. 

He pulled himself up as Burke marched his man around the corner. TheMonk hurried, somewhat unsteadily, to the edge of the fruit stand andlooked round it after the two figures. 

"Do youse know dat cop, ye damn Ginnie?" muttered Jimmie. 

"Signor, no!" replied the fruit dealer, nervously. "I never saw heemon dis beat before to-day, wenna he buy de apple from me. "

Jimmie turned--discretion conquering temporary vengeance, and startedin the opposite direction. He stopped long enough to say, as he rubbedhis bruised jaw, "Well, Wop, ye ain't like to see much more of 'imaround dis dump neither, an' ye ain't likely to see yerself neither, ifye do too much talkin' wid de cops. "

Jimmie hurried up the street to a certain rendezvous to arrange for arescue party of some sort. In the meantime Officer 4434 led anunwilling prisoner to the station house, one hand upon the man's rightarm. His own right hand gripped his stick firmly. 

"You make a wiggle and I'm going to give it to you where I got thatbrick, only harder, " said Burke, softly. 

A crowd of urchins, young men and even a few straggling women followedhim with his prisoner. It grew to enormous proportions by the time hehad reached the station house. 

As they entered the front room Captain Sawyer looked up from his desk, where he had been checking up some reports. 

"Ah, what have we this time, Burke?"

"This man is carrying a revolver in his hip pocket, " declared theofficer. "That will take care of him, I suppose. "

Dexter, at the captain's direction, searched the man. The revolver wasthe first prize. In his pocket was a queer memorandum book. Itcontained page after page of girls' names, giving only the first name, with some curious words in cipher code after each one. In the samepocket was a long, flat parcel. Dexter handed it to the captain whoopened it gingerly. Inside the officer found at least twenty-fivesmall packets, all wrapped in white paper. He opened two of these. They contained a flaky, white powder. 

The man looked down as Sawyer gave him a shrewd glance. 

"We have a very interesting visitor, Burke. Thanks for bringing himin. So you're a cocaine peddler?"

The man did not reply. 

"Take him out into one of the cells, Dexter. Get all the rest of hisjunk and wrap it up. Look through the lining of his clothes and striphim. This is a good catch, Burke. "

The prisoner sullenly ambled along between two policemen, who lockedhim up in one of the "pens" in the rear of the front office. Burkeleaned over the desk. 

"He was walking with that Jimmie the Monk when I got him. Jimmie actedugly, and when I told him to move on he began to curse me. "

"What did you do?"

"I handed him an upper-cut. Then this fellow tried to get his gun. Jimmie will remember me, and I'll get him later, on something. Ididn't want to call out the reserves, so I brought this man right onover here, and let Jimmie attend to himself. I suppose we'll hear fromhim before long. "

"Yes, I see the message coming now, " exclaimed Captain Sawyer in a lowtone. "Don't you open your mouth. I'll do the talking now. "

As he spoke, Burke followed his eyes and turned around. A large man, decorated with a shiny silk hat, shinier patent leather shoes ofextreme breadth of beam, a flamboyant waistcoat, and a gold chain fromwhich dangled a large diamond charm, swaggered into the room, moppinghis red face with a silk handkerchief. 

"Well, well, captain!" he ejaculated, "what's this I hear about anofficer from this precinct assaulting two peaceful civilians?"

The Captain looked steadily into the puffy face of the speaker. Hissteely gray eyes fairly snapped with anger, although his voice wasunruffled as he replied, "You'd better tell me all you heard, and whoyou heard it from. "

The big man looked at Burke and scowled ominously. It was evident thatOfficer 4434 was well known to him, although Bobbie had never seen theother in his life. 

"Here's the fellow. Clubbing one of my district workers--straightpolitics, that's what it is, or I should say crooked politics. I'mgoing to take this up with the Mayor this very day. You know hisorders about policemen using their clubs. "

"Yes, Alderman, I know that and several other things. I know that thispoliceman did not use his club but his fist on one of your wardheelers, and that was for cursing him in public. He should havearrested him. I also know that you are the lawyer for this gangster, Jimmie the Monk. And I know what we have on his friend. You can lookat the blotter if you want. I haven't finished writing it all yet. "

The Captain turned the big record-book around on his desk, while thepolitician angrily examined it. 

"What's that? Carrying weapons, unlawfully? Carrying cocaine? Why, this is a frame-up. This man Morgan is a law-abiding citizen. You'retrying to send him up to make a record for yourself. I'm going to takethis up with the Mayor as sure as my name is Kelly!"

"Take it up with the United States District Attorney, too, Mr. Alderman, for I've got some other things on your man Morgan. Thispolitical stuff is beginning to wear out, " snapped Sawyer. "There aretoo many big citizens getting interested in this dope trade and in thegang work for you and your Boss to keep it hushed any longer. "

He turned to Burke and waved his hand toward the stairway which led tothe dormitory above. 

"Go on upstairs, my boy, and rest up a little bit. You're pale. Thishas been a hard day, and I'm going to send out White to relieve you. Take a little rest and then I'll send you up to Men's Night Court withMorgan, for I want him held over for investigation by the United Statesofficers. "

Alderman Kelly puffed and fumed with excitement. This was gettingbeyond his depths. He was a competent artist in the criminal and lowercourts, but his talents for delaying the law of the Federal procedurewere rather slim. 

"What do you mean? I'm going to represent Morgan, and I'll havesomething to say about his case at Night Court. I know the magistrate. "

Sawyer took out the memorandum book from the little parcel of"exhibits" removed from the prisoner. 

"Well, Alderman, " Burke heard him say, as he started up the stairs, "you ought to be pleased to have a long and profitable case. For Ithink this is just starting the trail on a round-up of some young menwho have been making money by a little illegal traffic. There areabout four hundred girls' names in this book, and the Chief ofDetectives has a reputation for being able to figure out ciphers. "

Alderman Kelly dropped his head, but gazed at Sawyer's grim face frombeneath his heavy brows with a baleful intensity. Then he left thestation house. 

CHAPTER IV

WHAT THE DOCTOR SAID

Officer Bobbie Burke found the case at the Men's Night Court to be lessdifficult than his experience with Dutch Annie and her "friend. " Themagistrate disregarded the pleading of Alderman Kelly to show the"law-abiding" Morgan any leniency. The man was quickly bound over forinvestigation by the Grand Jury, upon the representations of CaptainSawyer, who went in person to look after the matter. 

"This man will bear a strict investigation, Mr. Kelly, and I propose tohold him without bail until the session to-morrow. Your arguments areof no avail. We have had too much talk and too little actual resultson this trafficking and cocaine business, and I will do what I can toprevent further delays. "

"But, your honor, how about this brutal policeman?" began Kelly, on anew tack. "Assaulting a peaceful citizen is a serious matter, and I amprepared to bring charges. "

"Bring any you want, " curtly said the magistrate. "The officer wasfully justified. If night-sticks instead of political pull were usedon these gun-men our politics would be cleaner and our city would notbe the laughing-stock of the rest of the country. Officer Burke, keepup your good work, and clean out the district if you can. We need moreof it. "

Burke stepped down from the stand, embarrassed but happy, for it was asatisfaction to know that there were some defenders of the police. Heespied Jimmie the Monk sitting with some of his associates in the rearof the room, but this time he was prepared for trouble, as he left. Consequently, there was none. 

When he returned to the station house he was too tired to return to hisroom in the boarding-house where he lodged, but took advantage of theproximity of a cot in the dormitory for the reserves. 

Next day he was so white and fagged from the hard duty that CaptainSawyer called up Doctor MacFarland, the police surgeon for the precinct. 

When the old Scotchman came over he examined. Burke carefully andshook his head sternly. 

"Young man, " said he, "if you want to continue on this work, rememberthat you have just come back from a hospital. There has been a badshock to your nerves, and if you overdo yourself you will have sometrouble with that head again. You had better ask the Captain for alittle time off--take it easy this next day or two and don't pick anymore fights. "

"I'm not hunting for trouble, doctor. But, you know, I do get a queerfeeling--maybe it is in my head, from that brick, but it feels in myheart--whenever I see one of these low scoundrels who live on themisery of their women. This Jimmie the Monk is one of the worst I haveever met, and I can't rest easy until I see him landed behind the bars. "

"There is no greater curse to our modern civilization than the work ofthese men, Burke. It is not so much the terrible lives of the womenwhom they enslave; it is the disease which is scattered broadcast, andcarried into the homes of working-men, to be handed to virtuous andunsuspecting wives, and by heredity to innocent children, visiting, asthe Bible says, 'the iniquities of the fathers unto the third and thefourth generation. '"

The old doctor sat down dejectedly and rested his chin on his hand, ashe sat talking to Burke in the rear room of the station house. 

"Doctor, I've heard a great deal about the white slave traffic, asevery one who keeps his ears open in the big city must. Do you thinkthe reports are exaggerated?"

"No, my boy. I've been practicing medicine and surgery in New York forforty years. When I came over here from Scotland the city was nobetter than it should have been. But it was an _American_ citythen--not an 'international melting pot, ' as the parlor sociologistsproudly call it. The social evil is the oldest profession in theworld; it began when one primitive man wanted that which he could notwin with love, so he offered a bribe. And the bribe was taken, whetherit was a carved amulet or a morsel of game, or a new fashion in furs. And the woman who took it realized that she could escape the drudgeryof the other women, could obtain more bribes for her loveless barter. .. And so it has grown down through the ages. "

The old Scotchman lit his pipe. 

"I've read hundreds of medical books, and I've had thousands of casesin real life which have taught me more than my medical books. WhatI've learned has not made me any happier, either. Knowledge doesn'tbring you peace of mind on a subject like this. It shows you how muchgreed and wickedness and misery there are in the world. "

"But, doctor, do you think this white slave traffic is a newdevelopment? We've only heard about it for the last two or threeyears, haven't we?"

The physician nodded. 

"Yes, but it's been there in one form or another. It caused the ruinof the Roman Empire; it brought the downfall of mediaeval Europe, andwhenever a splendid civilization springs up the curse of sex-bondage inone form or another grows with it like a cancer. "

"But medicine is learning to cure the cancer. Can't it help cure this?"

"We are getting near the cure for cancer, maybe near the cure for thiscancer as well. Sex-bondage was the great curse of negro slavery inthe United States; it was the thing which brought misery on the South, in the carpet-bag days, as a retribution for the sins of the fathers. We cured that and the South is bigger and better for that terriblesurgical operation than it ever was before. But this latestdevelopment--organized capture of ignorant, weak, pretty girls, to beheld in slavery by one man or by a band of men and a few debauched oldhags, is comparatively a new thing in America. It has been caused bythe swarms of ignorant emigrants, by the demand of the lowest classesof those emigrants and the Americans they influence for a satisfactionof their lust. It is made easy by the crass ignorance of the countrygirls, the emigrant girls, and by the drudgery and misery of theworking girls in the big cities. "

"I saw two cases in Night Court, Doc, which explained a whole lot tome--drunken fathers and brutal husbands who poisoned their ownwives--it taught that not all the blame rests upon the weakness of thewomen. "

"Of course it doesn't, " exclaimed MacFarland impetuously. "It restsupon Nature, and the way our boasted Society is mistreating Nature. Woman is weaker than man when it comes to brute force; you know it isforce which does rule the world when you do get down to it, ingovernment, in property, in business, in education--it is all survivalof the strongest, not always of the fittest. A woman should be in thehome; she can raise babies, for which Nature intended her. She canrule the world through her children, but when she gets out to fighthand to hand with man in the work-world she is outclassed. She can'tstand the physical strain thirty days in the month; she can't stand thestarvation, the mistreatment, the battling that a man gets in theworld. She needs tenderness and care, for you know every normal womanis a mother-to-be--and that is the most wonderful thing in the world, the most beautiful. When the woman comes up against the stone wall ofcompetition with men her weakness asserts itself. That's why goodwomen fall. It's not the 'easiest way'--it's just forced upon them. As for the naturally bad women--well, that has come from some trait ofanother generation, some weakness which has been increased instead ofcured by all this twisted, tangled thing we call modern civilization. "

The doctor sighed. 

"There are a lot of women in the world right now, Burke, who arefighting for what they call the 'Feminist Movement'. They don't wanthomes; they want men's jobs. They don't want to raise their babies inthe old-fashioned way; they want the State to raise them with trainednurses and breakfast food. They don't see anything beautiful in homelife, and cooking, and loving their husbands. They want the lectureplatform (and the gate-receipts); they want to run the government, theywant men to be breeders, like the drones in the beehive, and they don'twant to be tied to one man for life. They want to visit around. Theworst of it is that they are clever, they write well, they talk well, and they interest the women who are really normal, who only half-read, only half-analyze, and only get a part of the idea! These normal womenare devoting, as they should, most of their energies to the normalthings of woman life--children, home, charity, and neighborliness. Butthe clever feminist revolutionists are giving them just enough argumentto make them dissatisfied. They flatter the domestic woman by tellingher she is not enough appreciated, and that she should control thecountry. They lead the younger women away from the old ideals of loveand home and religion; in their place they would substituteselfishness, loose morals, and will change the chivalry, which it hastaken men a thousand years to cultivate, into brutal methods, when menrealize that women want absolute equality. Then, should such acondition ever be accepted by society in general, we will do away withthe present kind of social evil--to have a tidal wave of lust. "

Bobbie listened with interest. It was evident that Doctor MacFarlandwas opening up a subject close to his heart. The old man's eyessparkled as he continued. 

"You asked about the traffic in women, as we hear of it in New York. Well, the only way we can cure it is to educate the men of all classesso that for reasons moral, sanitary, and feelings of honest pride inthemselves they will not patronize the market where souls are sought. This can't be done by passing laws, but by better books, better ways ofamusement, better living conditions for working people, so that theywill not be 'driven to drink' and what follows it to forget theirtroubles. Better factories and kinder treatment to the great number ofworkmen, with fairer wage scale would bring nearer the possibility ofmarriage--which takes not one, but two people out of the danger of thegutter. Minimum wage scales and protection of working women would makethe condition of their lives better, so that they would not be forcedinto the streets and brothels to make their livings. 

"Why, Burke, a magistrate who sits in Night Court has told me thatmedical investigation of the street-walkers he has sentenced revealedthe fact that nine of every ten were diseased. When the men whofoolishly think they are good 'sports' by debauching with these womenlearn that they are throwing away the health of their wives andchildren to come, as well as risking the contagion of diseases whichcan only be bottled up by medical treatment but never completely cured;when it gets down to the question of men buying and selling these poorwomen as they undoubtedly do, the only way to check that is for everydecent man in the country to help in the fight. It is a man evil; menmust slay it. Every procurer in the country should be sent to prison, and every house of ill fame should be closed. "

"Don't you think the traffic would go on just the same, doctor? I haveheard it said that in European cities the authorities confined suchwomen to certain parts of the city. Then they are subjected to medicalexamination as well. "

"No, Burke, segregation will not cure it. Many of the cities abroadhave given that up. The medical examinations are no true test, forthey are only partially carried out--not all the women will admit theirsinful ways of life, nor submit to control by the government. Thesystem prevails in Paris and in Germany, and there is more diseasethere than in any other part of Europe. Men, depending upon theimaginary security of a doctor's examination card, abandon themselvesthe more readily, and caution is thrown to the winds, with the resultthat a woman who has been O. K. 'd by a government physician one day maycontract a disease and spread it the very next day. You can dependupon it that if she has done so she will evade the examination nexttime in order not to interfere with her trade profits. So, there youare. This is an ugly theme, but we must treat it scientifically. 

"You know it used to be considered vulgar to talk about the stomach andother organs which God gave us for the maintenance of life. But whenfolks began to realize that two-thirds of the sickness in the world, contagious and otherwise, resulted from trouble with the stomach, thatfalse modesty had to give way. Consequently to-day we have fewerepidemics, much better general health, because men and women understandhow to cure many of their own ailments with prompt action and simplemethods. 

"The vice problem is one which reaps its richest harvest when it isprotected from the sunlight. Sewers are not pleasant table-talk, butthey must be watched and attended by scientific sanitary engineers. Acancer of the intestines is disagreeable to think about. But when itthreatens a patient's life the patient should know the truth and thedoctor should operate. Modern society is the patient, anddeath-dealing sex crimes are the cancerous growth, which must beoperated upon. Whenever we allow a neighborhood to maintain houses ofprostitution, thus regulating and in a way sanctioning the evil, we aregranting a sort of corporation charter for an industry which is runupon business methods. And business, you know, is based upon fillingthe 'demand, ' with the necessary 'supply. ' And the manufacturers, inthis case, are the procurers and the proprietresses of these houses. There comes in the business of recruiting--and hence the traffic insouls, as it has aptly been called. No, my boy, government regulationwill never serve man, nor woman, for it cannot cover all the ground. As long as women are reckless, lazy and greedy, yielding to temporary, half-pleasant sin rather than live by work, you will find men with lowideals in all ranks of life who prefer such illicit 'fun' to thesweetness of wedlock! Why, Burke, sex is the most beautiful thing inthe world--it puts the blossoms on the trees, it colors thebutterflies' wings, it sweetens the songs of the birds, and it shouldmake life worth living for the worker in the trench, the factory hand, the office toiler and the millionaire. But it will never do so untilpeople understand it, know how to guard it with decent knowledge, andsanctify it morally and hygienically. "

The old doctor rose and knocked the ashes out of his briar pipe. Helooked at the eager face of the young officer. 

"But there, I'm getting old, for I yield to the melody of my own voicetoo much. I've got office hours, you know, and I'd better get back tomy pillboxes. Just excuse an old man who is too talkative sometimes, but remember that what I've said to you is not my own old-fashionednotion, but a little boiled-down philosophy from the writings of thegreatest modern scientists. "

"Good-bye, Doctor MacFarland. I'll not forget it. It has answered alot of questions in my mind. "

Bobbie went to the front door of the station house with the oldgentleman, and saluted as a farewell. 

"What's he been chinning to you about, Burke?" queried the Captain. "Some of his ideas of reforming the world? He's a great old character, is Doc. "

"I think he knows a lot more about religion than a good many ministersI've heard, " replied Bobbie. "He ought to talk to a few of them. "

"Sure. But they wouldn't listen if he did. They're too busy gettingmoney to send to the heathens in China, and the niggers in Africa tobother about the heathens and poor devils here. I'm pretty strong forDoc MacFarland, even though I don't get all he's talking about. "

"Say, Burke, the Doc got after me one day and gave me a string of booksas long as your arm to read, " put in Dexter. "He seems to think a copought to have as much time to read as a college boy!"

"You let me have the list, Dexter, and I'll coach you up on it, "laughed Burke. 

"To-day is your relief, Burke, " said the Captain. "You can go up tothe library and wallow in literature if you want to. "

Burke smiled, as he retorted:

"I'm going to a better place to do my reading--and not out of bookseither, Cap. "

He changed his clothes, and soon emerged in civilian garb. He hadnever paid his call on John Barton, although he had been out of thehospital for several days. The old man's frequent visits to him in hisprivate room at the hospital, after that first memorable meeting, hadripened their friendship. Barton had told him of a number of new ideasin electrical appliances, and Burke was anxious to see what progresshad been made since the old fellow returned to his home. 

Officer 4434 was also anxious to see another member of his family, andso it was with a curious little thrill of excitement, well concealed, however, with which he entered the modest apartment of the Bartons'that evening. 

"Well, well, well!" exclaimed the old man, as the young officer tookhis hand. "We thought you had forgotten us completely. Mary has askedme several times if you had been up to see me. I suppose you have beenbusy with those gangsters, and keep pretty close since you returned toactive service. "

Bobbie nodded. 

"Yes, sir. They are always with us, you know. And a policeman doesnot have very much time to himself, particularly if he lolls around inbed with a throb in the back of the head, during his off hours, as I'vebeen foolish enough to do. "

"Oh, how are you feeling, Mr. Burke?" exclaimed Mary, as she enteredfrom the rear room. 

She held out her hand, and Bobbie trembled a trifle as he took hersoft, warm fingers in his own. 

"I'm improving, and don't believe I was ever laid up--it was justimagination on my part, " answered Burke. "But I have a faded rose tomake me remember that some of it was a pleasant imagination, at anyrate. "

Mary laughed softly, and dropped her eyes ever so slightly. But theaction betrayed that she had not forgotten either. 

Old Barton busied himself with some papers on a table by the side ofhis wheel-chair, for he was a diplomat. 

"Well, now, Mr. Burke--what are your adventures? I read every day ofsome policeman jumping off a dock in the East River to rescue asuicide, or dragging twenty people out of a burning tenement, and amafraid that it's you. It's all right to be a hero, you know, butthere's a great deal of truth in that old saying about it being betterto have people remark, 'There he goes, ' than 'Doesn't he look natural. '"

Bobbie took the comfortable armchair which Mary drew up. 

"I haven't had anything really worth while telling about, " said Burke. "I see a lot of sad things, and it makes a man feel as though he were apoor thing not to be able to improve conditions. "

"That's true of every walk in life. But most people don't look at thesad any longer than they can help. I've not been having a very jollytime of it myself, but I hope for a lot of good news before long. Whydon't you bring Lorna in to meet Mr. Burke, Mary?"

The girl excused herself, and retired. 

"How are your patents?" asked Bobbie, with interest. "I hope you canshow tricks to the Gresham people. "

The old man sighed. He took up some drawings and opened a littledrawer in the table. 

"No, Mr. Burke, I am afraid my tricks will be slow. I have received noletter from young Gresham in reply to one I wrote him, asking to begiven a salary for mechanical work here in my home. Every bit of mysavings has been exhausted. You know I educated my daughters to thelimit of my earnings, since my dear wife died. They have hard sleddingin front of them for a while, I fear. "

He hesitated, and then continued:

"Do you remember the day you met Mary? She started to say that she andLorna could not see me on visiting day. Well, the dear girls hadsecured a position as clerks in Monnarde's big candy store up on FifthAvenue. They talked it over between them, and decided that it wasbetter for them to get to work, to relieve my mind of worry. It's thefirst time they ever worked, and they are sticking to it gamely. Butit makes me feel terribly. Their mother never had to work, and I feelas though I have been a failure in life--to have done as much as Ihave, and yet not have enough in my old age to protect them from theworld. "

"There, there, Mr. Barton. I don't agree with you. There is nodisgrace in womanly work; it proves what a girl is worth. She learnsthe value of money, which before that had merely come to her without aquestion from her parents. And you have been a splendid father . .. That's easily seen from the fine sort of girl Miss Mary is. "

Mary had stepped into the room with her younger sister as he spoke. They hesitated at the kindly words, and Mary drew her sister backagain, her face suffused with a rosiness which was far from unhappy inits meaning. 

"Well, I am very proud of Mary and Lorna. If this particular schemeworks out they will be able to buy their candy at Monnarde's instead ofselling it. "

Bobbie rose and leaned over the table. 

"What is it? I'm not very good at getting mechanical drawings. Itlooks as though it ought to be very important from all the wheels, " hesaid, with a smile of interest. 

Spreading out the largest of his drawings, old Barton pointed out thedifferent lines. 

"This may look like a mince pie of cogs here, but when it is put intoshape it will be a simple little arrangement. This is a recordinginstrument which combines the phonograph and the dictagraph. Onepurpose--the most practical, is that a business man may dictate hisletters and memoranda while sitting at his desk, in his office, insteadof having a machine with a phonograph in his private office taking upspace and requiring the changing of records by the dictator--which isnecessary with the present business phonograph. All that will benecessary is for him to speak into a little disc. The sound waves arecarried by a simple arrangement of wiring into his outer office, orwherever his stenographer works. There, where the space is presumablycheaper and easier of access than the private office, the receiving endof the machine is located. Instead of one disc at a time--limited to acertain number of letters--the machine has a magazine of discs, something like the idea of a repeating letter. Automatically the disc, which is filled, is moved up and a fresh disc takes its place. Thisgoes on indefinitely, as you might say. A man can dictate two hundredletters, speaking as rapidly as he thinks. He never has to bother overchanging his records. The girl at the other end of the wire does thatwhen the machine registers that the supply is being exhausted. She inturn uses the discs on the regular business phonograph, or, as this isintended for large offices, where there are a great many letters, andconsequently a number of stenographers, she can assign the records tothe different typists. "

"Why, that is wonderful, Mr. Barton!" exclaimed Burke. "It ought tomake a fortune for you if it is backed and financed right. Why didn'tanyone think of it before?"

Barton smiled, and caressed his drawing affectionately. 

"Mr. Burke, the Patent Office is maintained for men who think up thingsthat some fellow should have thought of before! The greatestinventions are apparently the simplest. That's what makes them hard toinvent!"

He pointed to another drawing. 

"That has a business value, too, and I hope to get the proper supportwhen I have completed my models. You know, a scientific man can seeall these things on the paper, but to the man with money they are pipedreams until he sees the wheels go 'round. "

He now held out his second drawing, which was easier to understand, forit was a sketch of his appliance, showing the outer appearance, andgiving a diagonal section of a desk or room, with a wire runningthrough a wall into another compartment. 

"Here is where the scientist yields to his temperament and wastes a lotof time on something which probably will never bring him a cent. Thisis a combination of my record machine, which will be of interest toyour profession. "

Bobbie examined it closely, but could not divine its purpose. 

"It is the application of the phonographic record to the dictagraph, sothat police and detective work can be absolutely recorded, without theshadow of a doubt remaining in the minds of a trial jury or judge. Maybe this is boring you?"

"No, no--go on!"

"Well, when dictagraphs are used for the discovery of criminals it hasbeen necessary to keep expert stenographers, and at least one otherwitness at the end of the wire to put down the record. Frequently thestenographer cannot take the words spoken as fast as he should to makethe record. Sometimes it is impossible to get the stenographer and thewitness on the wire at the exact time. Of course, this is only a crazyidea. But it seems to me that by a little additional appliance which Ihave planned, the record machine could be put into a room nearby, oreven another house. If a certain place were under suspicion themachine could rest with more ease, less food and on smaller wages thana detective and stenographer on salary. When any one started to talkin this suspected room the vibrations of the voices would start acertain connection going through this additional wire, which would setthe phonograph into action. As long as the conversation continued therecords would be running continuously. No matter how rapidly words areuttered the phonograph would get them, and could be run, for furtherinvestigation, as slowly and as many times as desired. When theconversation stopped the machine would automatically blow its owndinner whistle and adjourn the meeting until the talk began again. This would take the record of at least an hour's conversation: anotherattachment would send in a still-alarm to the detective agency orpolice station, so that within that hour a man could be on the job witha new supply of records and bait the trap again. "

"Wonderful!"

"Yes, and the most important part is that this is the only way ofkeeping a record which cannot be called a 'frame-up'--for it is aphotograph of the sound waves. A grafter, a murderer, or any othercriminal could be made to speak the same words in court as were put onthe phonographic record, and his voice identified beyond the shadow ofa doubt!"

Bobbie clapped his hand on the old man's shoulder. 

"Why, Mr. Barton, that is the greatest invention ever made forcapturing and convicting criminals. It's wonderful! The PoliceDepartments of the big cities should buy enough machines to make yourich, for you could demand your own price. "

Barton looked dreamily toward the window, through which twinkled thedistant lights of the city streets. 

"I want money, Burke, as every sane man does. But this pet of minemeans more than money. I want to contribute my share to justice justas you do yours. Who knows, some day it may reward me in a way whichno money could ever repay. You never can tell about such things. Whoknows?"

CHAPTER V

ROSES AND THORNS

Mary's sister was as winsome and fair as she, but to Burke's keen eyesshe was a weaker girl. There was a suggestion of too much attention todress, a self-consciousness tinged with self-appreciation. 

When she was introduced to Bobbie he could feel instinctively anunder-current of condescension, ever so slight, yet perceptible to thesensitive young fellow. 

"You're the first policeman I've ever met, " began Lorna, with a smile, "and I really don't half believe you are one. I always think of themas swinging clubs and taking a handful of peanuts off a stand, as theywalk past a corner cart. Really, I do. "

Burke reddened, but retorted, amiably enough. 

"I don't like peanuts, for they always remind me of the Zoo, and Inever liked Zoos! But I plead guilty to swinging a club when occasiondemands. You know even millionaires have their clubs, and so you can'tdeny us the privilege, can you?"

Lorna laughed, and gracefully pushed back a stray curl with her prettyhand. Mary frowned a bit, but trusted that Bobbie had not noticed thelack of tact. 

"I've seen policemen tugging at a horse's head and getting nearlytrampled to death to save some children in a runaway carriage. Thatwas on Fifth Avenue yesterday, just when we quit work, Lorna. " Sheemphasized the word "work, " and Bobbie liked her the more for it. "And, last winter, I saw two of them taking people out on afire-escape, wet, and covered with icicles, in a big fire over there onManhattan Avenue. They didn't look a bit romantic, Lorna, and theyeven had red faces and pug noses. But I think that's a pleasantermemory than shoplifting from peanut stands. "

Lorna smiled winningly, however, and sat down, not without a decorativeadjustment of her pretty silk dress. Bobbie forgave her, principallybecause she looked so much like Mary. 

They chatted as young people will, while old Barton mumbled and studiedover his drawings, occasionally adding a detail, and calculating on apad as though he were working out some problem in algebra. 

Lorna's chief topic was the theater and dancing. 

Mary endeavored to bring the conversation around to other things. 

"I have to admit that I'm very green on theaters, Miss Barton, " saidBobbie to the younger sister. "I love serious plays, and theseold-fashioned kind of comedies, which teach a fellow that there's somehappiness in life----but, I don't get the time to attend them. Mystation is down on the East Side, and I see so much tragedy andunhappiness that it has given me about all the real-life plays I couldwant, since I came to the police work. "

Lorna scoffed, and tossed her curls. 

"Oh, I don't like that stupid old stuff myself. I like the musicalcomedies that have dancing, and French dresses, and cleverness. Ithink all the serious plays nowadays are nothing but scandal--a girlcan't go to see them without blushing and wishing she were at home. "

"I don't agree with you, Lorna. There are some things in life that agirl should learn. An unpleasant play is likely to leave a bad tastein one's mouth, but that bad taste may save her from thinking that evilcan be honey-coated and harmless. Why, the show we saw the othernight--those costumes, those dances, and the songs! There was nothingleft to imagine. They stop serious plays, and ministers preach sermonsabout them, while the musical comedies that some of the managersproduce are a thousand times worse, for they teach only a bad lesson. "

As Lorna started to reply the bell rang and Mary went to the door. 

Two young men were outside and, at Mary's stiff invitation, theyentered. Burke rose, politely. 

"Why, how do you do, Mr. Baxter?" exclaimed Lorna, enthusiastically, asshe extended one hand and arranged that disobedient lock of hair withthe other. "Come right in, this is such a pleasant surprise. "

Baxter advanced, and introduced his companion. 

"This is my friend, Reggie Craig, Miss Barton. We're just on our waydown to Dawley's for a little supper and a dance afterward. You knowthey have some great tangoing there, and I know you like it. "

Lorna introduced Craig and Baxter to the others. As she came to Bobbieshe said, "This is Mr. Burke. You wouldn't believe it, but he is a----"

"Friend of father's, " interrupted Mary, with a look which did notescape either Bobbie or Lorna. "Won't you sit down, gentlemen?"

Burke was studying the two men with his usual rapidity of observation. 

Baxter was tall, with dark, curly hair, carefully plastered straightback from a low, narrow forehead. His grooming was immaculate: his"extreme" cutaway coat showed a good physique, but the pallor of theface above it bespoke dissipation of the strength of that naturalendowment. His shoes, embellished with pearl buttons set withrhinestones, were of the latest vogue, described in the man-who-sawcolumn of the theater programmes. He looked, for all the world, likean advertisement for ready-tailored suitings. 

His companion was slighter in build but equally fastidious inappearance. When he drew a handkerchief from his cuff Bobbie completedthe survey and walked over toward old Barton, to look at the moreinteresting drawings. 

"You girls must come along to Dawley's, you simply must, you know, "began Baxter, still standing. "Of course, we'd be glad to have yourfather's friend, if he likes dancing. "

"That's very kind of you, but you know I've a lot to talk about withMr. Barton, " answered Bobbie, quietly. 

"May we go, father?" asked Lorna, impetuously. 

"Well, I thought, " said the old gentleman, "I thought that you'd----"

"Father, I haven't been to a dance or a supper since you were injured. You know that, " pouted Lorna. 

"What do you want to do, Mary dear?" asked the old man, helplessly. 

"It's very kind of Mr. Baxter, but you know we have a guest. "

Mary quietly sat down, while Lorna's temper flared. 

"Well, I'm going anyway. I'm tired of working and worrying. I want tohave pleasure and music and entertainment like thousands of other girlsin New York. I owe it to myself. I don't intend to sit around hereand talk about tenement fires and silly old patents. "

Burke was embarrassed, but not so the visiting fashion plates. Baxterand Craig merely smiled at each other with studied nonchalance; theyseemed used to such scenes, thought Bobbie. 

Lorna flounced angrily from the room, while her father wiped hisforehead with a trembling hand. 

"Why, Lorna, " he expostulated weakly. But Lorna reappeared with apretty evening wrap and her hat in her hand. She donned the hat, twisting it to a coquettish angle, and Baxter unctuously assisted herto place the wrap about her shoulders. 

"Lorna, I forbid your going out at this time of the evening with twogentlemen we have never met before, " cried Mary. 

But Lorna opened the door and wilfully left the room, followed byCraig. Baxter turned as he left, and smiled sarcastically. 

"Good-_night_!" he remarked, with a significant accent on the last word. 

Mary's face was white, as she looked appealingly at Burke. He tried tocomfort her in his quiet way. 

"I wouldn't worry, Miss Mary. I think they are nice young fellows, andyou know young girls are the same the world over. I am sure they areall right, and will look after her--you know, some people do think awhole lot of dancing and jolly company, and it is punishment for themto have to talk all the time on serious things. I don't blame her, forI'm poor company--and only a policeman, after all. "

John Barton looked disconsolately at the door which had slammed afterthe trio. 

"You do think it's all right, don't you, Burke?"

"Why, certainly, " said Burke. He lied like a gentleman and a soldier. 

Old Barton was ill at ease, although he endeavored to cover his anxietywith his usual optimism. 

"We are too hard on the youngsters, I fear, " he began. "It's true thatLorna has not had very much pleasure since I was injured. The poorchild has had many sleepless nights of worry since then, as well. Youknow she has always been our baby, while my Mary here has been thelittle mother since my dear wife left us. "

Mary forced a smiling reply: "You dear daddy, don't worry. I knowLorna's fine qualities, and I wish we could entertain more for her thanwe do right in our little flat. That's one of the causes of New York'sunnatural life. In the small towns and suburbs girls have porches andbig parlors, while they live in a surrounding of trees and flowers. They have home music, jolly gatherings about their own pianos; we can'tafford even to rent a piano just now. So, there, daddy, be patient andforgive Lorna's thoughtlessness. "

Barton's face beamed again, as he caressed his daughter's soft browncurls, when she leaned over his chair to kiss him. 

"My blessed little Mary: you are as old as your mother--as old as allmotherhood, in your wisdom. I feel more foolishly a boy each day, as Irealize the depth of your devotion and love. "

Burke's eyes filled with tears, which he manfully wiped away with asneaking little movement of his left hand, as he pretended to look outof the window toward the distant lights. A man whose tear-ducts havedried with adolescence is cursed with a shriveled soul for the rest ofhis life. 

"Now, we mustn't let our little worry make you feel badly, Mr. Burke. Do you know, I've been thinking about a little matter in which you areconcerned? Why don't you have your interests looked after in your hometown?"

"My uncle? Well, I am afraid that's a lost cause. I went to thefamily lawyer when I returned from my army service, and he charged mefive dollars for advising me to let the matter go. He said that lawwas law, and that the whole matter had been ended, that I had norecourse. I think I'll just stick to my work, and let my uncle getwhat pleasure he can out of his treatment of me. "

"That is a great mistake. If he was your family lawyer, it is verypossible that your uncle anticipated your going to him. And somelawyers have elastic notions of what is possible--depending upon thesize of your fee. Now, I have a young friend down town. He is apatent lawyer, and I trust him. Why don't you let him look into thismatter. I have given him other cases before, through my connectionswith the Greshams. He proved honorable and energetic. Let me writeyou out a letter of introduction. "

"Perhaps you are right. I appreciate your advice and it will do noharm to let him try his best, " said Bobbie. "I'll give him the factsand let him investigate matters. "

The old man wrote a note while Burke and Mary became better acquainted. Even in her attempt to speak gaily and happily, Bobbie could discernher worriment. As Barton finished his writing, handing the envelope toBurke, the younger man decided to take a little initiative of his own. 

"It's late, Mr. Barton. I have had a pleasant evening, and I hope Imay have many more. But you know I promised Doctor MacFarland, thepolice surgeon, that I would go to bed early on the days when I was offduty. So I had better be getting back down town. "

They protested cordially, but Bobbie was soon out on the street, walking toward the Subway. 

He did not take the train for his own neighborhood, however. Insteadhe boarded a local which stopped at Sixty-sixth Street, the heart ofwhat is called the "New Tenderloin. "

In this district are dozens of dance halls, flashy restaurants and_cafés chantantes_. A block from the Subway exit was the well-knownestablishment called "Dawley's. " This was the destination of Baxterand Craig, with Lorna Barton. Bobbie thought it well to take anobservation of the social activities of these two young men. 

He entered the big, glittering room, his coat and hat rudely jerkedfrom his arms by a Greek check boy, at the doorway, without the uselessformula of request. 

The tables were arranged about the walls, leaving an open space in thecenter for dancing. Nearly every chair was filled, while the poppingof corks and the clinking of glasses even so early in the eveningtestified to the popularity of Dawley's. 

"They seem to prefer this sort of thing to theaters, " thought Bobbie. "Anyway, this crowd is funnier than most comedies I've seen. "

He looked around him, after being led to a corner seat by theobsequious head waiter. There was a preponderance of fat old men andvacuous looking young girls of the type designated on Broadway as"chickens. " Here and there a slumming party was to be seen--elderlywomen and ill-at-ease men, staring curiously at the diners and dancers;young married couples who seemed to be enjoying their self-thrilleddeviltry and new-found freedom. An orchestra of negro musicians wererattling away on banjos, mandolins, and singing obligatos indeep-voiced improvisations. The drummer and the cymbalist were thebusiest of all; their rattling, clanging, banging addition to the musicgave it an irresistible rhythmic cadence. Even Burke felt the call ofthe dance, until he studied the evolutions of the merrymakers. Oddlyassorted couples, some in elaborate evening dress, women inshoulderless, sleeveless, backless gowns, men in dinner-coats, girls instreet clothes with yard-long feathers, youths in check suits, old menin staid business frock coats--what a motley throng! All were busilyengaged in the orgy of a bacchanalian dance in which couples reeled andwrithed, cheek to cheek, feet intertwining, arms about shoulders. Instead of enjoying themselves the men seemed largely engaged incounting their steps, and watching their own feet whenever possible:the girls kept their eyes, for the most part, upon the mirrors whichcovered the walls, each watching her poises and swings, her hat, hercurls, her lips, with obvious complacency. 

Burke was nauseated, for instead of the old-time fun of a jolly dance, this seemed some weird, unnatural, bestial, ritualistic evolution. 

"And they call this dancing?" he muttered. "But, I wonder where MissLorna is?"

He finally espied her, dancing with Baxter. The latter was swinginghis arms and body in a snakey, serpentine one-step, as he glided downthe floor, pushing other couples out of the way. Lorna, like the othergirls, lost no opportunity to admire her own reflection in the mirrors. 

Burke was tempted to rush forward and intercede, to pull her out of thearms of the repulsive Baxter. But he knew how foolish he would appear, and what would be the result of such an action. 

As he looked the waiter approached for his order. 

Burke took the menu, decorated with dancing figures which would haveseemed more appropriate for some masquerade ball poster, for the LatinQuarter, and began to read the _entrees_. 

As he looked down two men brushed past his table, and a sidelong glancegave him view of a face which made him quickly forget the choice offood. 

It was Jimmie the Monk, flashily dressed, debonnaire as one to themanor born, talking with Craig, the companion of Baxter. 

Burke held the menu card before his face. He was curious to hear thetopic of their conversation. When he did so--the words were clear anddistinct, as Baxter and Jimmie sat down at a table behind him--hisheart bounded with horror. 

"Who's dis new skirt, Craig?"

"Oh, it's a kid Baxter picked up in Monnarde's candy store. It's thebest one he's landed yet, but we nearly got in Dutch to-night when wewent up to her flat to bring her out. Her old man and her sister werethere with some nut, and they didn't want her to go. But Baxter"lamped" her, and she fell for his eyes and sneaked out anyway. Youbetter keep off, Jimmie, for you don't look like a college boy--andthat's the gag Baxter's been giving her. She thinks she's going to adance at the Yale Club next week. It's harder game than the last one, but we'll get it fixed to-night. You better send word to Izzie tobring up his taxi--in about an hour. "

"I'll go now, Craig. Tell Baxter dat it'll be fixed. Where'll he takeher?"

Craig replied in a low tone, which thwarted Burke's attempt toeavesdrop. 

CHAPTER VI

THE WORK OF THE GANGSTERS

Bobbie Burke's eyes sparkled with the flame of battle spirit, yet hemaintained an outward calm. He turned his face toward the wall of therestaurant while Jimmie the Monk tripped nonchalantly out into thestreet. Burke did not wish to be recognized too soon. The negromusicians struck up a livelier tune than before. The dancing couplesbobbed and writhed in the sensuous, shameless intimacies of thedemi-mondaine bacchante. The waiters merrily juggled trays, stackedskillfully with vari-colored drinks, and bumped the knees of theclose-sitting guests with silvered champagne buckets. Popping corksresounded like the distant musketry of the crack sharp-shooters of theDevil's Own. Indeed, this was an ambuscade of the greatest, oldest, cruellest, most blood-thirsty conflict of civilized history--the War ofthe Roses--the Massacre of the Innocents! In Bobbie's ears thejangling tambourine, the weird splutterings of the banjos, the twangingof the guitars, the shrill music of the violins and clarionet, themonotonous rag-time pom-pom of the piano accompanist, the clash andbang of cymbal and base-drum, the coarse minor cadences of the negrosingers--all so essential to cabaret dancing of this class--soundedlike the war pibroch of a Satanic clan of reincarnate fiends. 

The waiter was serving some savory viands, for such establishmentscater cleverly to the beast of the dining room as well as of theboudoir. 

But Burke was in no mood to eat or drink. His soul was sickened, buthis mind was working with lightning acumen. 

"Bring me my check now as I may have to leave before you come aroundagain, " he directed his waiter. 

"Yes, sir, certainly, " responded the Tenderloin Dionysius, not withouta shade of regret in his cackling voice. Early eaters and shortstayers reduced the percentage on tips, while moderate orders of drinksmeant immoderate thrift--to the waiter. 

The check was forthcoming at once. Burke quietly corrected theaddition of the items to the apparent astonishment of the waiter. Heproduced the exact change, while a thunder-storm seemed imminent on theface of his servitor. Burke, however, drew forth a dollar bill fromhis pocket, and placed it with the other change, smiling significantly. 

"Oh, sir, thank you"--began the waiter, surprised into the strictlyunprofessional weakness of an appreciation. 

Bobbie, with a left-ward twitch of his head, and a slight quiver of thelid of his left eye, brought an attentive ear close to his mouth. 

"My boy, I want you to go outside and have the taxicab starter reservea machine for 'Mr. Green. ' Tell him to have it run forward and clearof the awning in front of the restaurant--slip him this other dollar, now, and impress on him that I want that car about twenty-five feet tothe right of the door as you go out. "

The waiter nodded, and leered slyly. 

"All right, sir--I get ye, Mr. Green. It's a quick getaway, is thatit?"

"Exactly, " answered Bobbie, "and I want the chauffeur to have all hisjuice on--the engine cranked and ready for another Vanderbilt CupRace. " Bobbie gave the waiter one of his best smiles--behind thatsmile was a manful look, a kindliness of character and a great power ofpurpose, which rang true, even to this blasé and cynical dispenser ofthe grape. The latter nodded and smiled, albeit flabbily, into thewinsome eyes of the young officer. 

"Ye're a reg'lar fellar, Mr. Green, I kin see that! Trust me to have alightning conductor fer you--with his lamps lit and burning. Thesenighthawk taxis around here make most of their mazuma by this flystuff--generally the souses ain't got enough left for a taxicab, andit's a waste o' time stickin' 'em up since the rubes are so easy withthe taxi meter. But just look out for a little badger work on thechauffeur when ye git through with 'im. "

Burke nodded. Then he added. "Just keep this to yourself, won't you?There's nothing crooked about it--I'm trying to do some one a goodturn. Tell them to keep the taxi ready, no matter how long it takes. "

"Sure and I will, Mr. Green. "

The waiter walked away toward the front door, where he carried outBurke's instructions, slipping the second bill into the willing hand ofthe starter. 

As he came back he shrewdly studied the face of the young policeman whowas quietly listening to the furious fusillade of the ragtime musicians. 

"Well, that guy's not as green as he says his name is. He don't looklike no crook, neither! I wonder what his stall is? Well, _I_ shouldworry!"

And he went his way rejoicing in the possession of that peace of mindwhich comes to some men who let neither the joys nor woes of othersbreak through the armament of their own comfortable placidity. Everynight of his life was crowded with curious, sad and ridiculousincidents; had he let them linger long in his mind his hand andtemperament would have suffered a loss of accumulative skill. Thatwould have spelled ruin, and this particular waiter, like so many ofhis flabby-faced brothers, was a shrewd tradesman--in the commoditiesof his discreetly elastic memory--and the even more valuable asset, atalent for forgetting!

Burke was biding his time, and watching developments. 

He saw the mealy-faced Baxter take Lorna out upon the dancing floor forthe next dance. They swung into the rhythm of the dance with easyfamiliarity, which proved that the girl was no novice in this style ofterpsichorean enjoyment. 

"She has been to other dances like this, " muttered Bobbie as he watchedwith a strange loathing in his heart. "It's terrible to see the girlsof a great modern city like New York entering publicly into a dancewhich I used to see on the Barbary Coast in 'Frisco. If they had seenit danced out there I don't believe they'd be so anxious to imitate itnow. "

Lorna and Baxter returned through the crowded merrymakers to theirseats, and sat down at the table. 

"You need another cocktail, " suggested Baxter, after sipping onehimself and forgetting the need for reserve in his remarks. "Youmustn't be a bum sport at a dance like this, Miss Barton. "

"Oh, Mr. Baxter, I don't dare go home with a breath like cocktails. You know Mary and I sleep together, " objected Lorna. 

"Don't worry about that, little girlie, " said Baxter. "She won't mindit to-night. "

To Burke's keen ears there was a shade of hidden menace in the words. 

"Come on, now, just this one, " said Baxter coaxingly. "It won't hurt. There's always room for one more. "

What a temptation it was for the muscular policeman to swing around andshake the miserable wretch as one would a cur!

But Bobbie had learned the value of controlling his temper; that is oneof the first requisites of a policeman's as well as of an army man'slife. 

"Do you know, Mr. Baxter, " said Lorna, after she had yielded to theinsistence of her companion, "that cocktail makes me a little dizzy. Iguess it will take me a long while to get used to such drinks. Youknow, I've been brought up in an awfully old-fashioned way. My fatherwould simply kill me if he thought I drank beer--and as for cocktailsand highballs and horse's necks, and all those real drinks . .. Well, Ihate to think of it. Ha! ha!"

And she laughed in a silly way which made Burke know that she wasbeginning to feel the effect. 

"I wonder if I hadn't better assert myself right now?" he mused, pretending to eat a morsel. "It would cause a commotion, but it wouldteach her a lesson, and would teach her father to keep a closer watch. "

Just then he heard his own name mentioned by the girl behind. 

"Say, Mr. Baxter, you came just at the right time to-night. That Burkewho was calling on father is a stupid policeman, whom he met in thehospital, and I was being treated to a regular sermon about life andwickedness and a lot of tiresome rot. I don't like policemen, do you?"

"I should say not!" was Baxter's heartfelt answer. 

They were silent an instant. 

"A policeman, you say, eh?"

"Yes; I certainly don't think he's fit to call on nice people. Thenext think we know father will have firemen and cab-drivers and streetcleaners, I suppose. They're all in the same class to me--justservants. "

"What precinct did he come from?"

Baxter's tone was more earnest than it had been. 

Burke's face reddened at the girl's slur, but he continued his waitinggame. 

"Precinct? What's that? I don't know where he came from. He's a NewYork policeman, that's all I found out. It didn't interest me, whyshould it you? Oh, Mr. Baxter, look at that beautiful willow plume onthat girl's hat. She is a silly-looking girl, but that is a wonderfulhat. "

Baxter grunted and seemed lost in thought. 

Burke espied Jimmie the Monk meandering through the tables, in companywith a heavy, smooth-faced man whose eyes were directed from even thatdistance toward the table at which Lorna sat. 

Burke wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, thus cutting offJimmie's possible view of his features. 

"Ah, Jimmie, back again. And I see you're with my old friend, SamShepard!"

Baxter rose to shake hands with the newcomer. He introduced him toLorna, backing close against Burke's shoulder as he did so. 

"This is my friend, Sam Shepard, the theatrical manager, Miss Lorna, "began Baxter. "He's the man who can get you on the stage. You know Iwas telling you about him. This is Miss Barton, you've heard about, Sam. Sit down and tell her about your new comic opera that you'recasting now. "

[Illustration: "This is my friend, Sam Shepard, the theatrical manager, Miss Lorna. He's the man who can get you on the stage. ]

As Shepard shook Lorna's hand, Jimmie leaned over toward Baxter's earto whisper. They were not two feet from Burke's own ears, so he heardthe message: "I've got de taxi ready. Now, make a good getaway toReilly's house, Baxter. "

"Say, Jimmie, just a minute, " murmured Baxter. "This girl says a copwas up calling on her father. I met the guy. His name was Burke. Doyou know him? Is he apt to queer anything?"

Jimmie the Monk started. 

"Burke? What did he look like?"

"Oh, pretty slick-looking gink. Well set-up--looked like an army man, and gave me a hard stare when he lamped me. Had been in the hospitalwith the old fellow. "

"Gee, dat's Burke, de guy dat's been after me, and I'm goin' ter do'im. Is he buttin' in on dis?"

"Yes; what about him? You're not scared of him, are you?"

"Naw; but he's a bad egg. Say, he's a rookie dat t'inks 'e kin cleanup our gang. Now, you better dish dis job and let Shepard pull detrick. Take it from yer Uncle Jim!"

Every syllable was audible to Burke, but Lorna was exchangingpleasantries with Shepard, who had taken Baxter's seat. 

"All right, Jimmie. Beat it yourself. "

Baxter turned around as Jimmie quietly slipped away. Baxter leanedover the table to smirk into the face of the young girl. 

"Say, Miss Lorna, some of my friends are over in another corner of theroom, and I'm going to speak to them. Now, save the next tango for me. Mr. Shepard will fix it for you, and if you jolly him right you can getinto his new show, 'The Girl and the Dragon, ' can't she, Sam?"

"Where are you going?" exclaimed Shepard in a gruff tone. "You've gotto attend to something for me to-night. "

There was a brutal dominance which vibrated in his voice. Here was adesperate character, thought Burke, who was accustomed to commandothers; he was not the flabby weakling type, like Baxter and Craig. 

"It's better for you to do it, Sam. I'll tell you later. Jimmie justtipped me off that there's a bull on the trail that's lamped me. "

Burke understood the shifting of their business arrangement, but toLorna the crook's slang was so much gibberish. 

"What did you say? I can't understand such funny talk, Mr. Baxter. Iguess I had too strong a cocktail, he! he!" she exclaimed. "What abouta lamp?"

"That's all right, girlie, " said Shepard, as Baxter walked quicklyaway. "Some of his friends want him to go down to the Lamb's Club, buthe doesn't want to leave you. We'll have a little chat together whilehe is gone. I'm not very good at dancing or I'd get you to turkey trotwith me. "

Lorna's voice was whiny now as she responded. 

"Oh, I'm feeling funny. That cocktail was too much for me. .. . I guessI'd better go home. "

"There, there, my dear, " Shepard reassured her. "You get that way fora little while, but it's all right. You'd better have a littlebeer--that will straighten you up. "

Only by the strongest will power could Burke resist his desire tointerpose now, yet the words of the men prepared him for somethingwhich it would be more important to wait for--to interfere at thedramatic moment. 

"Here, waiter, a bottle of beer!" ordered Shepard. 

Burke turned half way around, and, by a side-long glance, he sawShepard pulling a small vial from his hip pocket as he sat with hisback to the policeman. 

"Oh, ho! So here it comes!" thought Bobbie. "I'll be ready to standby now. "

He rose and pushed back his chair. The waiter had brought the bottlewith surprising alacrity, and Shepard poured out a glass for the younggirl. Bobbie stood fumbling with his change as an excuse to watch. Lorna was engrossed in the bubbling foam of the beer and did not noticehim. 

"I guess he's afraid to do it now, " thought Bobbie, as he failed toobserve any suspicious move. 

True, Shepard's hand passed swiftly over the glass as he handed it tothe girl. 

She drank it at his urging, and then suddenly her head sank forward onher breast. 

Bobbie stifled his indignation with difficulty as Shepard gave anexclamation of surprise. 

"My wife! She is sick! She has fainted!" cried Shepard to Burke'samazement. The man acted his part cunningly. 

He had sprung to his feet as he rushed around the table to catch thetoppling girl. With a quick jump to her side Bobbie had caught her byan arm, but Shepard indignantly pushed him aside. 

"How dare you, sir?" he exclaimed. "Take your hands off my wife. "

The man's bravado was splendid, and even the diners were impressed. Most of them laughed, for to them it was only another drunken woman, afamiliar and excruciatingly funny object to most of them. 

"Aw, let the goil alone, " cried one red-faced man who sat with a small, heavily rouged girl of about sixteen. "Don't come between man andwife!" And he laughed with coarse appreciation of his own humor. 

Shepard had lifted Lorna with his strong arms and was starting towardthe door. Burke saw the entrance to the men's café on the right. Hequietly walked into it, and then hurried toward the front, out throughthe big glass door to the street. 

There, about twenty feet to his right, he saw the purring taxicab whichhe had ordered waiting for a quick run. 

In front of the restaurant entrance, now to his left, was another car, with a chauffeur standing by its open door, expectantly. 

Burke ran up just as Shepard emerged from the restaurant entrance. Theofficer sprang at the big fellow and dealt him a terrible blow on theside of the head. The man staggered and his hold weakened. As he didso Burke caught the inanimate form of the young girl in his own arms. He turned before Shepard or the waiting chauffeur could recover fromtheir surprise and ran toward the car at the right. The two men wereafter him, but Burke lifted the girl into the machine and cried to thechauffeur:

"Go it!"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Mr. Green, " said Burke. The chauffeur sprang into his seat, butas he did so Shepard was upon the young officer and trying to climbinto the door. 

Biff!

Here was a chance for every ounce of accumulated ire to assert itself, and it did so, through the hardened muscles of Officer 4434's rightarm. Shepard sank backward with a groan, as the taxi-cab shot forwardobedient to its throttle. 

Burke was bounced backward upon the unconscious girl, but the machinesped swiftly with a wise chauffeur at its wheel. He did not know wherehis passenger wished to go, but his judgment told him it was away frompursuit. 

He turned swiftly down the first street to the right. 

Back on the sidewalk before the restaurant there was intenseexcitement. Baxter, Craig and Jimmie the Monk had followed the artfulShepard to the street by the side door. They assisted the chauffeur inpicking up the bepummeled man from the sidewalk. 

"Say, Jimmie! There's somebody shadowing us. Get into that cab ofMike's and we'll chase him!" cried Baxter. 

They rushed for the other cab, leaving Craig to mop Shepard's wan facewith a perfumed handkerchief. 

After the slight delay of cranking it the second car whizzed along thestreet. But that delay was fatal to the purpose of the pursuers, forere they had reached the corner down which the first machine had turnedthe entire block was empty. Burke's driver had made another right turn. 

Bobbie opened the door and yelled to the chauffeur as he hung to thejamb with difficulty. 

"Drive past the restaurant again very slowly, but don't stop. Thenkeep on going straight up the avenue. "

The chauffeur knew the advantage of doubling on a trail, and by thetime he had passed the restaurant after a third and fourth rightturn--making a trip completely around the block--the excitement haddied down. The pursuers had gone on a wild-goose chase in the oppositedirection, little suspecting such a simple trick. 

The taxicab rumbled nonchalantly up the avenue for five or six blocks, while Burke worked in a vain effort to restore his fair prisoner toconsciousness. 

The car stopped in a dark stretch between blocks. 

"Where shall I go, governor?" asked the chauffeur as he jumped down andopened the door. "Is your lady friend any better, governor?"

Burke looked at the man's face as well as he could in the dim light, wondering if he could be trusted. He decided that it was too big achance, for there is a secret fraternity among chauffeurs and thedenizens of the Tenderloin which is more powerful than any benevolentorder ever founded. This man would undoubtedly tell of his destinationto some other driver, surely to the starter at the restaurant. Then itwould be a comparatively simple matter for Baxter and Jimmie the Monkto learn the details in enough fullness to track his own identity. Forcertain reasons, already formulated, Bobbie Burke wished to keep Jimmieand his gangsters in blissful ignorance of his own knowledge of theiractivities. 

"This is my girl, and one of those fellows tried to steal her, " saidBurke in a gruff voice. "I was onto the game, and that's why I had thestarter get you ready. She lives on West Seventy-first Street, nearWest End Avenue. Now, you run along on the right side of the street, and I'll point out the house. "

He was planning a second "double" on his trail. The chauffeur gruntedand started the machine again. The girl was moaning with pain in anincoherent way. 

As they rolled slowly down West Seventy-first Street Bobbie saw a housewhich showed a light in the third floor. Presumably the storm doorwould not be locked, as it would have been in case the tenants wereaway. He knocked on the window. 

The taxi came to a stop. 

The chauffeur opened the door and Burke sprang out. 

"Here's a ten-dollar bill, my boy, " said Burke. "I'll have to squareher with her mother, so you come back here in twenty minutes and takeme down to that restaurant. I'm going to clean out that joint, andI'll pay you another ten to help me. Are you game?"

The chauffeur laughed wisely. 

"Am I game? Just watch me. "

Burke lifted Lorna out and turned toward the steps. 

"Now, don't leave me in the lurch. Be back in exactly twenty minutes, and I'll be on the job--and we'll make it some job. But, don't let thefolks see you standing around, or they'll think I've been up to somegame. Her old man will start some shooting. Come back for me. "

The chauffeur chuckled as he climbed into his car and drove away, planning a little himself. 

"Any guy that has a girl as swell as that one to live on this streetwill be good for a hundred dollars before I get through with him, " hemuttered as he took a chew of tobacco. "And I've got the number ofthat house, too. Her old man will give a good deal to keep this out ofthe papers. I know my business, even if I didn't go to college!"

As the chauffeur disappeared around the corner, after taking a looktoward the steps up which Burke had carried his unconscious burden, thepoliceman put Lorna down inside the vestibule. 

"Now, this is a dangerous game. It means disgrace if I get caught; butit means a pair of broken hearts if this poor girl gets caught, " hethought. "I'll risk nobody coming, and run for another taxi. "

He hastened down the steps and walked around the corner, hurryingtoward a big hotel which stood not far from Broadway. Here he foundanother taxicab. 

"There's a young lady sick at the house of one of my friends, and I'mtaking her home, " said Burke to the driver. "Hurry up, please. "

The second automobile sped over the street to the house where Burke hadleft the girl, and the officer hurried up the steps. He soonreappeared with Lorna in his arms, walked calmly down the steps, andput her into the car. 

This time he gave the correct home address, and the taxicab rumbledalong on the last stretch of the race. 

They passed the first car, whose driver was already planning the waysto spend the money which he was to make by a little scientificblackmail. 

He was destined to a long wait in front of the brownstone mansion. 

After nearly an hour he decided to take things into his own hands. 

"I'll get a little now, " he muttered with an accompaniment ofprofanity. "That guy can't stall me. "

After ringing the bell for several minutes a very angry caretaker cameto the door. 

"What do you want, my man?" cried this individual in unmistakableBritish accents. "Dash your blooming impudence in waking me up at thistime in the morning. "

"I want to get my taxicab fare from the gent that brought the lady heredrunk!" declared the chauffeur. "Are you her father?"

The caretaker shook a fist in his face as he snapped back:

"I'm nobody's father. There ain't no gent nor drunk lady here. I'malone in this house, and my master and missus is at Palm Beach. If youdon't get away from here I'm going to call the police. "

With that he slammed the door in the face of the astounded chauffeurand turned out the light in the hall. 

The taxi driver walked down the steps slowly. 

"Well, that's a new game on me!" he grunted. "There's a new gangworking this town as sure as I'm alive. I'm going down and put thestarter wise. "

Down he went, to face a cross-examination from the starter, and anaccounting for his time. He had to pay over seven dollars of his tento cover the period for which he had the car out. Jimmie the Monk andBaxter had returned from their unsuccessful chase. As they made theirinquiries from the starter and learned the care with which the coupd'êtat had been arranged they lapsed into angry, if admiring, profanity. 

"Some guy, eh, Jimmie!" exclaimed Baxter. "But we'll find out who itwas, all right. Leave it to me!"

"Say, dat bloke was crazy--crazy like a fox, wasn't he?" answeredJimmie. "He let Shepard do de deal, and den he steals de kitty! Disis what I calls cut-throat competition!"

CHAPTER VII

THE CLOSER BOND

Once in the second taxicab Burke's difficulties were not at an end. 

"I want to get this poor young girl home without humiliating her or herfamily, if I can, " was his mental resolve. "But I can't quite plan it. I wish I could take her to Dr. MacFarland, but his office is 'waydowntown from here. "

When the car drew up before the door of Lorna's home, from which shehad departed in such blithe spirits, Bob's heart was thumping almostguiltily. He felt in some ridiculous way as though he were almostresponsible for her plight himself. Perhaps he had done wrong to waitso long. Yet, even his quick eyesight had failed to discover theknockout drops or powder which the wily Shepard had slipped into thatdisastrous glass of beer. Maybe his interference would have saved herfrom this unconscious stupor, indeed, he felt morally certain that itwould; but Bob knew in his heart that the clever tricksters would haveturned the tables on him effectively, and undoubtedly in the end wouldhave won their point by eluding him and escaping with the girl. It wasbetter that their operations should be thwarted in a manner which wouldprevent them from knowing how sharply they were watched. Bob knew thatthese men were to be looked after in the future. 

He cast aside his thoughts to substitute action. 

"Here's your number, mister, " said the chauffeur, who opened the door. "Can I help you with the lady?"

"Thank you, no. What's the charge?"

The driver twisted the lamp around to show the meter, and Burke paidhim a good tip over the price of the ride. 

"Shall I wait for you?" asked the driver. 

"No; that's all. I'll walk to the subway as soon as my friend gets in. Good night. "

The chauffeur lingered a bit as Bob took the girl in his arms. Theofficer understood the suggestion of his hesitation. 

"I said good night!" he spoke curtly. 

The taxi man understood this time; there was no mistaking the firmnessof the hint, and he started his machine away. 

The Bartons lived in one of the apartments of the building. The frontdoor was locked, and so Bob was forced reluctantly to ring the bellbeneath the name which indicated their particular letter box. 

He waited, holding the young girl in his arms. 

"Oh, I'm so sick!" he heard her say faintly, and he realized that shewas regaining consciousness. 

"If only I can get her upstairs quietly, " he thought. 

He was about to swing her body around in his arms so that he could ringonce more when there was a turning of the knob. 

"Who is it?" came a frightened voice. 

It was Mary Barton at the doorway. 

"S-s-s-h!" cautioned Bob. "It's Burke. I'm bringing Miss Lorna home?Don't make any noise. "

"Oh!" gasped the unhappy sister. "What's wrong? Is she hurt?"

"No!" said Bob. "Fortunately not. "

"Is she-- Oh-- Is she--drunk?"

Burke calmed her with the reassurance of his low, steady voice. 

"No, Miss Mary. She was drugged by those rascals, and I saved her intime. Please don't cry, or make a noise. Let me take her upstairs andhelp you. It's better if she does not know that I was the one to bringher home. "

Mary tried to help him; but Bob carried the girl on into the hall. 

"Is your father awake?"

"No; I told him two hours ago, when he asked me from his room, thatLorna had returned and was asleep. He believed me. I had to fib tosave him from breaking his dear old daddy heart. Is she injured atall?"

It was plainly evident that the poor girl was holding her nerves inleash with a tremendous effort. 

Bob kept on toward the stairs. 

"She'll be all right when you get her into her room. Give her somesmelling salts, and don't tell your father. Didn't he hear the bell?"

"No; I've been waiting for her. I put some paper in the bell so thatit would only buzz when it rang. Let me help you, Mr. Burke. How onearth did you----" She was eager in spite of her anxiety. 

To see the young officer returning with her sister this way was more ofa mystery than she could fathom. But, at Bob's sibilant command forsilence, she trustingly obeyed, and went up before him to guide the wayalong the darkened stairway. 

At last they reached the door of their apartment. 

Mary opened it, and Bob entered, walking softly. She led the way toher humble little bedroom, the one which she and Lorna shared. Boblaid the sister upon the bed, and beckoned Mary to follow him. Lornawas moving now, her hands tremulous, and she was half-moaning. 

"I want my Mary. I want my Mary. "

Her sister followed Burke out into the hall, which led down the stepsto the street. 

"Now, remember, don't tell her about being drugged. A man at one ofthe tables put some knockout drops into a glass of water"--Bob wassoftening the blow with a little honest lying--"and I rescued her justin time. She knows nothing about it--only warn her about the companythat she was in. I have learned that they are worse than worthless. Iwill attend to them in my own way, and in the line of my work, MissMary. But, as you love your sister, don't ever let her go with thosemen again. "

Mary's hand was outstretched toward the young man's, and he took itgently. 

"You've done much for Lorna, " she breathed softly, "and more for me!"

There was a sweet pressure from those soft, clasping fingers whichthrilled Bob as though somehow he was burying his face in a bunch ofroses--like that first one which had tapped its soft message foradmission to his heart, back in the hospital. 

"Good night. Don't worry. It's all ended well, after all. "

Mary drew away her fingers reluctantly as he backed down one step. 

"Good night--Bob!"

That was all. She slipped quietly inside the apartment and closed thedoor noiselessly behind her. 

Bob slowly descended the steps; oddly enough, he felt as though it werean ascension of some sort. His life seemed to be going into higherplanes, and his hopes and ambitions came fluttering into his brain likethe shower of petals from some blossom-laden tree. He felt anew thespring of old dreams, and the surge of new ones. 

He stumbled, unsteady in his steps, his hands trembling on the railingof the stairs, until he reached the street level. He hurried outthrough the hallway and closed the door behind him. 

How he longed to retrace his steps for just one more word! That firsttender use of his name had a wealth of meaning which stirred him morethan a torrent of endearing terms. 

The keen bracing air of the early spring morning thrilled him. 

He hurried down the street toward the subway station, elated, exalted. 

"It's worth fighting every gangster in New York for a girl like her!"he told himself. "I never realized how bitter all this was until itstruck home to me--by striking home to some one who is loved by thegirl--I love. "

The trip downtown was more tiring than he had expected. The stimulusof his exciting evening was now wearing off, and Bob went direct to thestation house to be handy for the duty which began early in the day. It was not yet dawn, but the rattling milk carts, the stirring oftrucks and the early stragglers of morning workers gave evidence thatthe sun would soon be out upon his daily travels. 

The day passed without more excitement than usual. Bob took his turnafter a short nap in the dormitory room of the station house. Duringhis relief he rested up again. When he was preparing to start outagain upon patrol a letter was handed him by the captain. 

"Here, Burke, a little message from your best girl, I suppose, " smiledhis superior. 

Bob took it, and as he opened it again he felt that curious thrillwhich had been aroused in him by the winsome charm of Mary Barton. Itwas a brief note which she had mailed that morning on her way to work. 

"DEAR MR. BURKE--Everything was all right after all our worry. Lornais heartily repentant, and thinks that she had to be brought home byone of her 'friends' (?). She has promised never to go with themagain, and, aside from a bad headache to-day, she is no worse for herfolly. Father knows nothing, and, dear soul, I feel that it is betterso. I can never thank you enough. I hope to see you soon. 

 "Cordially, "MARY. "

Bob folded the note and tucked it into his breast pocket. The captainhad been watching him with shrewd interest, and presently heintercepted: "Ah, now, I guessed right. Why, Bobbie Burke, you're evenblushing like a schoolgirl over her first beau. "

Burke was just a trifle resentful under the sharp look of the captain'sgray eyes; but the unmistakable friendliness of the officer's facedrove away all feeling. 

"I envy you, my boy. I am not making fun of you, " said the captain, with keen understanding. 

"Thank you, Cap, " said Bob quietly. "You guessed right both times. It's my first sweetheart. "

He buttoned his coat and started for the door. 

"You'd better step around to Doc MacFarland's on your rounds thisevening and let him look you over. It won't take but a minute, and Idon't expect him around the station. You're not on peg-post to-night, so you can do it. "

"All right, Cap. "

Burke saluted and left the station, falling into line with the othermen who were marching out on relief. 

A half hour later he dropped into the office of the police surgeon, andwas greeted warmly by the old gentleman. 

MacFarland was smoking his pipe in comfort after the cares and worriesof a busy day. 

"Any more trouble with the gangsters, Burke?" he asked. 

Bob, after a little hesitation decided to tell him about the adventureof the night before. 

"I want your advice, Doc, for you understand these things. Do yousuppose there's any danger of Lorna's going out with those fellowsagain? You don't suppose that they were actually going to entice herinto some house, do you?"

MacFarland stroked his gray whiskers. 

"Well, my boy, that is not what we Scotchmen would call a vera cannythought! You speak foolishly. Why, don't you know that is organizedteamwork just as fine as they make it? Those two fellows, Baxter, Ithink you said, and Craig, are typical 'cadets. ' They are the prettyboys who make the acquaintance of the girls, and open the way fortemptation, which is generally attended to by other men of strongercaliber. This fellow Shepard is undoubtedly one of the head men oftheir gang. If Jimmie the Monk is mixed up in it that is theconnecting link between these fellows and the East Side. And it's backto the East Side that the trail nearly always leads, for over in theEast Side of New York is the feudal fastness of the politician whotells the public to be damned, and is rewarded with a fortune for hispains. The politician protects the gangster; the gangster protects theprocurer, and both of them vote early and often for the politician. "

Bob sighed. 

"Isn't there some way that this young girl can be warned about thedangers she is running into? It's terrible to think of a thing likethis threatening any girl of good family, or any other family for thatmatter. "

"You must simply warn her sister and have her watch the younger girllike a hawk. "

MacFarland cleaned out his pipe with a scalpel knife, and put inanother charge of tobacco. 

He puffed a blue cloud before Bob had replied. 

"I wish there were some way I could get co-operation on this. I'mgoing to hunt these fellows down, Doc. But it seems to me that theauthorities in this city should help along. "

"They are helping along. The District Attorney has sent up gangsterafter gangster; but it's like a quicksand, Burke--new rascals seem toslide in as fast as you shovel out the old ones. "

"I have the advantage now that they don't know who is looking afterLorna, " said Bobbie. "But it was a hard job getting them off my track. "

"That was good detective work--as good as I've heard of, " said thedoctor. "You just keep shy now. Don't get into more gun fights andfist scraps for a few days, and you'll get something on them again. You know your catching them last night was just part of a general lawabout crime. The criminal always gives himself away in some little, careless manner that hardly looks worth while worrying about. Thosetwo fellows never dreamed of your following them--they let the name ofthe restaurant slip out, and probably forgot about it the next minute. And Jimmie the Monk has given you a clue to work on, to find out theconnection. Keep up your work--but keep a bullet-proof skin for awhile. "

Bob started toward the door. A new idea came to him. 

"Doctor, I've just thought of something. I saw a picture in the paperto-night of a big philanthropist named Trubus, or something like that, who is fighting Raines Law Hotels, improper novels, bad moving picturesand improving morals in general. How do you think it would do to givehim a tip about these fellows? He asks for more money from the publicto carry on their work. They had a big banquet in his honor lastnight. "

MacFarland laughed, and took from his desk a letter, which he handed toBob with a wink. The young officer was surprised, but took the paper, and glanced at it. 

"There, Burke, read this letter. If I get one of these a day, I getfive, all in the same tune. Isn't that enough to make a man die amiser?"

Officer 4434 took the letter over to the doctor's student lamp and readwith amusement:

"DEAR SIR--The Purity League is waging the great battle against sin. 

"You are doubtless aware that in this glorious work it is necessary forus to defray office and other expenses. Whatever tithe of yourblessings can be donated to our Rescue Fund will be bread cast upon thewaters to return tenfold. 

"A poor widow, whose only child is a beautiful girl of seventeen, hasbeen taken under the care of our gentle nurses. This unfortunatewoman, a devout church attendant, has been prostrated by the wantonconduct of her daughter, who has left the influence of home to enterupon a life of wickedness. 

"If you will contribute one hundred dollars to the support of thismiserable old creature, we will have collected enough to pay her apension from the interest of the fund of ten dollars monthly. Uponreceipt of your check for this amount we will send you, expressprepaid, a framed membership certificate, richly embossed in gold, andsigned by the President, Treasurer and Chaplain-Secretary of the PurityLeague. Your name will be entered upon our roster as a patron of theorganization. 

"Make all checks payable to William Trubus, President, and onout-of-town checks kindly add clearing-house fee. 

"'Charity shall cover the multitude of sins. '"--I Peter, iv. 8. 

"Yours for the glory of the Cause, "WILLIAM TRUBUS, "President, The Purity League of N. Y. "

As Officer Burke finished the letter he looked quizzically at Dr. MacFarland. 

"How large was your check, doctor?"

"My boy, I came from Scotland. I will give you three guesses. "

"But, doctor, I see the top of the letter-head festooned with abouttwenty-five names, all of them millionaires. Why don't these mencontribute the money direct? Then they could save the postage. Thisletter is printed, not typewritten. They must have sent out thousandsabout this poor old woman. Surely some millionaire could give up onemonkey dinner and endow the old lady?"

"Burke, you're young in the ways of charity. That old woman is anendowment herself. She ought to bring enough royalties for the PurityLeague to buy three new mahogany desks, hire five new investigators andfour extra stenographers. "

The old doctor's kindly face lost its geniality as he pounded on thetable with rising ire. 

"Burke, I have looked into this organized charity game. It is adisgrace. Out of every hundred dollars given to a really worthy cause, in answer to hundreds of thousands of letters, ninety dollars go tooffice and executive expenses. When a poor man or a starving womanfinally yields to circumstances and applies to one of theserichly-endowed institutions, do you know what happens?"

Burke shook his head. 

"The object of divine assistance enters a room, which has nice oakbenches down either side. She, and most of them are women (for menhave a chance to panhandle, and consider it more self-respecting to begon the streets than from a religious corporation), waits her turn, until a dizzy blonde clerk beckons condescendingly. She advances tothe rail, and gives her name, race, color, previous condition ofservitude, her mother's great grandmother's maiden name, and a lot ofother important charitable things. She is then referred to room sixhundred and ninety. There she gives more of her autobiography. Fromthis room she is sent to the inspection department, and she isinvestigated further. If the poor woman doesn't faint from hunger andexhaustion she keeps up this schedule until she has walked a Marathonaround the fine white marble building devoted to charity. At last shegets a ticket for a meal, or a sort of trading stamp by which she canget a room for the night in a vermin-infested lodging house, upon theadditional payment of thirty cents. Now, this may seem exaggerated, but honestly, my boy, I have given you just about the course of actionof these scientific philanthropic enterprises. They are spic and spanas the quarterdeck of a millionaire's yacht. "

MacFarland was so disgusted with the objects of his tirade that hetried three times before he could fill his old briar pipe. 

"Doctor, why don't you air these opinions where they will count?" askedBobbie. "It's time to stop the graft. "

"When some newspaper is brave enough to risk the enmity of churchpeople, who don't know real conditions, and thus lose a fewsubscribers, or when some really charitable people investigate forthemselves, it will all come out. The real truth of that quotation atthe bottom of the Purity League letter should be expressed this way:'Charity covers a multitude of hypocrites and grafters. ' And to mymind the dirtiest, foulest, lowest grafter in the world is the man whodoes it under the cloak of charity or religion. But a man whoproclaims such a belief as mine is called an atheist and a destroyer ofideals. "

Burke looked at the old doctor admiringly. 

"If there were more men like you, Doc, there wouldn't be so muchhypocrisy, and there would be more real good done. Anyhow, I believeI'll look up this angelic Trubus to see what he's like. "

He took up his night stick and started for the door. 

"I've spent too much time in here, even if it was at the captain'sorders. Now I'll go out and earn what the citizens think is the easymoney of a policeman. Good night. "

"Good night, my lad. Mind what I told you, and don't let those EastSide goblins get you. "

Burke had a busy night. 

He had hardly been out of the house before he heard a terrificexplosion a block away, and he ran to learn the cause. 

From crowded tenement houses came swarming an excited, terror-strickenstream of tenants. The front of a small Italian store had been smashedin. It was undoubtedly the work of a bomb, and already the cheapstructure of the building had caught the flames. Men and women, children by the dozen, all screeched and howled in a Babel of half adozen languages as Bob, with his fellow officers, tried to calm them. 

The engines were soon at the scene, but not until Bob and others haddashed into the burning building half a dozen times to guide thefrightened occupants to the streets. 

Mothers would remember that babies had been left inside--after theythemselves had been brought to safety. The long-suffering policemenwould rush back to get the little ones. 

The fathers of these aliens seemed to forget family ties, and even thatchivalry, supposed to be a masculine instinct, for they fought withfist and foot to get to safety, regardless of their women and thechildren. The reserves from the station had to be called out to keepthe fire lines intact, while the grimy firemen worked with might andmain to keep the blaze from spreading. After it was all over Burkewondered whether these great hordes of aliens were of such benefit tothe country as their political compatriots avowed. He had been readinglong articles in the newspapers denouncing Senators and Representativeswho wished to restrict immigration. He had seen glowing accounts ofthe value of strong workers for the development of the country'senterprise, of the duty of Americans to open their national portal tothe down-trodden of other lands, no matter how ignorant orpoverty-stricken. 

"I believe much of this vice and crime comes from letting this rabbleinto the city, where they stay, instead of going out into the countrywhere they can work and get fresh air and fields. They take the jobsof honest men, who are Americans, and I see by the papers that thereare two hundred and fifty thousand men out of work and hunting jobs inNew York this spring, " mused Bob. "It appears to me as if we mightlook after Americans first for a while, instead of letting in morescum. Cheap labor is all right; but when honest men have to pay highertaxes to take care of the peasants of Europe who don't want to work, and who do crowd our hospitals and streets, and fill our schools withtheir children, and our jails and hospitals with their work and theirdiseases, it's a high price for cheap labor. "

And, without knowing it, Officer 4434 echoed the sentiments of a greatmany of his fellow citizens who are not catering to the votes offoreign-born constituents or making fortunes from the prostitution ofworkers' brain and brawn. 

The big steamship companies, the cheap factory proprietors and thegreat merchants who sell the sweat-shop goods at high-art prices, themanipulators of subway and road graft, the political jobbers, theanarchistic and socialistic sycophants of class guerilla warfare arecontinually arguing to the contrary. But the policemen and the firemenof New York City can tell a different story of the value of our alienpopulation of more than two million!

CHAPTER VIII

THE PURITY LEAGUE AND ITS ANGEL

In a few days, when an afternoon's relief allowed him the time, Officer4434 decided to visit the renowned William Trubus. He found theaddress of that patron of organized philanthropy in the telephone bookat the station house. 

It was on Fifth Avenue, not far from the windswept coast of the famousFlatiron Building. 

Burke started up to the building shortly before one o'clock, and hefound it difficult to make his way along the sidewalks of the beautifulavenue because of the hordes of men and girls who loitered about, enjoying the last minutes of their luncheon hour. 

Where a few years before had been handsome and prosperous shops, with athrong of fashionably dressed pedestrians of the city's better classeson the sidewalks, the district had been taken over by shirtwaist andcloak factories. The ill-fed, foul-smelling foreigners jabbered intheir native dialects, ogled the gum-chewing girls and grudgingly gavepassage-way to the young officer, who, as usual, when off duty, worehis civilian clothes. 

"I wonder why these factories don't use the side streets instead ofspoiling the finest avenue in America?" thought Bob. "I guess it isbecause the foreigners of their class spoil everything they seem totouch. Our great granddaddies fought for Liberty, and now we have togive it up and pay for the privilege!"

It was with a pessimistic thought like this that he entered the bigoffice structure in which was located the headquarters of the PurityLeague. Bob took the elevator in any but a happy frame of mind. Hewas determined to find out for himself just how correct was Dr. MacFarland's estimate of high-finance-philanthropy. 

On the fourth floor he left the car, and entered the door which borethe name of the organization. 

A young girl, toying with the wires of a telephone switchboard, did notbother to look up, despite his query. 

"Yes, dearie, " she confided to some one at the other end of thetelephone. "We had the grandest time. He's a swell feller, all right, and opened nothing but wine all evening. Yes, I had my charmeusegown--the one with the pannier, you know, and----"

"Excuse me, " interrupted Burke, "I'd like to speak to the president ofthis company. "

The girl looked at him scornfully. 

"Just a minute, girlie, I'm interrupted. " She turned to look at Bobagain, and with a haughty toss of her rather startling yellow curlsraised her eyebrows in a supercilious glance of interrogation. 

"What's your business?"

"That's _my_ business. I want to see Mr. Trubus and not _you_. "

"Well, nix on the sarcasm. He's too busy to be disturbed by every bookagent and insurance peddler in town. Tell me what you want and I'llsee if it's important enough. That's what I'm paid for. "

"You tell him that a policeman from the ---- precinct wants to see him, and tell him mighty quick!" snapped Burke with a sharp look. 

He expected a change of attitude. But the curious, shifty look in thegirl's face--almost a pallor which overspread its artificial carnadine, was inexplicable to him at this time. He had cause to remember itlater. 

"Why, why, " she half stammered, "what's the matter?"

"You give him my message. "

The girl did not telephone as Burke had expected her to do, accordingto the general custom where switchboard girls send in announcement ofcallers to private offices. 

Instead she removed the headgear of the receiver and rose. She wentinside the door at her back and closed it after her. 

"Well, that's some service, " thought Burke. "I wonder why she's soactive after indifference?"

She returned before he had a chance to ruminate further. 

"You can go right in, sir, " she said. 

As she sat down she watched him from the corner of her eye. Burkecould not help but wonder at the tense interest in his presence, butdismissed the thought as he entered the room, and beheld the presidentof the Purity League. 

William Trubus was seated at a broad mahogany desk, while before himwas spread a large, old-fashioned family Bible. He held in his lefthand a cracker, which he was munching daintily, as he read in anabstracted manner from the page before him. In his right hand was aglass containing a red liquid, which Burke at first sight supposed waswine. He was soon to be undeceived. 

He stood a full minute while the president of the League mumbled tohimself as he perused the Sacred Writ. Bobbie was thus enabled to geta clear view of the philanthropist's profile, and to study the greatman from a good point of vantage. 

Trubus was rotund. His cheeks were rosy evidences of good health, goodmeals and freedom from anxiety as to where those good meals were tocome from. His forehead was round, and being partially bald, gave anappearance of exaggerated intellectuality. 

His nose was that of a Roman centurion--bold, cruel as a hawk's beak, strong-nostriled as a wolf's muzzle. His firm white teeth, as theycrunched on the cracker suggested, even stronger, the semblance to acarnivorous animal of prey. A benevolent-looking pair of gold-rimmedglasses sat astride that nose, but Burke noticed that, oddly enough, Trubus did not need them for his reading, nor later when he turned tolook at the young officer. 

The plump face was adorned with the conventional "mutton-chop" whiskerswhich are so generally associated in one's mental picture of bankers, bishops and reformers. The whiskers were so resolutely black, thatBurke felt sure they must have been dyed, for Trubus' plump hands, withtheir wrinkles and yellow blotches, evidenced that the philanthropistmust have passed the three-score milestone of time. 

The white gaiters, the somber black of his well-fitting broadcloth coatof ministerial cut, the sanctified, studied manner of the man's posegave Burke an almost indefinable feeling that before him sat a cleverly"made-up" actor, not a sincere, natural man of benevolent activities. 

The room was furnished elaborately; some rare Japanese ivories adornedthe desk top. A Chinese vase, close by, was filled with fresh-cutflowers. Around the walls were handsome oil paintings. BeautifulOriental rugs covered the floor. There hung a tapestry from some oldFrench convent; yonder stood an exquisite marble statue whose valuemust have been enormous. 

As Trubus raised the glass to drink the red liquid Bobbie caught theglint of an enormous diamond ring which must have cost thousands. 

"Well, evidently his charity begins at home!" thought the young man ashe stepped toward the desk. 

Tiring of the wait he addressed the absorbed reader. 

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Trubus, but I was announced and told to come inhere to see you. "

Trubus raised his eyebrows, and slowly turned in his chair. His eyesopened wide with surprise as he peered over the gold rims at thenewcomer. 

"Well, well, well! So you were, so you were. "

He put down his glass reluctantly. 

"You must pardon me, but I always spend my noon hour gaininginspiration from the great Source of all inspiration. What can I dofor you? I understand that you are a policeman--am I mistaken?"

"No, sir; I am a policeman, and I have come to you to get your aid. Iunderstand that you receive a great deal of money for your campaign forpurifying the city, and so I think you can help me in a certain work. "

Trubus waved the four-carat ring deprecatingly. 

"Ah, my young friend, you are in great error. I do not receive muchmoney. We toil very ardently for the cause, but worldly pleasures andthe selfishness of our fellow citizens interfere with our solving ofthe great task. We are far behind in our receipts. How lamentablylittle do we get in response to our requests for aid to charity!"

He followed Bobbie's incredulous glance at the luxurious furnishings ofhis office. 

"Yes, yes, it is indeed a wretched state of affairs. Our efforts nevercease, and although we have fourteen stenographers working constantlyon the lists of people who could aid us, with a number of devoutassistants who cover the field, our results are pitiable. "

He leaned back in his leather-covered mahogany desk chair. 

"Even I, the president of this association, give all my time to thecause. And for what? A few hundred dollars yearly--a bare modicum. Iam compelled to eat this frugal luncheon of crackers and grape juice. I have given practically all of my private fortune to this splendidenterprise, and the results are discouraging. Even the furniture ofthis office I have brought down from my home in order that those whomay come to discuss our movement may be surrounded by an environment ofbeauty and calm. But, money, much money. Alas!"

Just at this juncture the door opened and the telephone girl brought ina basket full of letters, evidently just received from the mail man. 

"Here's the latest mail, Mr. Trubus. All answers to the form letters, to judge from the return envelopes. "

Trubus frowned at her as he caught Burke's twinkling glance. 

"Doubtless they are insults to our cause, not replies to ourimportunities, Miss Emerson!" he hurriedly replied. 

He looked sharply at Burke. 

"Well, sir, having finished what I consider my midday devotions, I amvery busy. What can I do for you?"

"You can listen to what I have to say, " retorted Burke; resenting thecondescending tone. "I come here to see you about some actualconditions. I have read some of your literature, and if you are asanxious to do some active good as you write you are, I can give youenough to keep your entire organization busy. "

It was a very different personality which shone forth from those sharpblack eyes now, than the smug, quasi-religious man who had spokenbefore. 

"I don't like your manner, young man. Tell me what you have to say, and do it quickly. "

"Well, yours is the Purity League. I happen to have run across a gangof procurers who drug girls, and make their livelihood off the shame ofthe girls they get into their clutches. I can give you the names ofthese men, their haunts, and you can apply the funds and influence ofyour society in running them to earth, with my assistance and that of anumber of other policemen I know. "

Trubus rose from his chair. 

"I have heard this story many times before, my young friend. It doesnot interest me. "

"What!" exclaimed Burke, "you advertise and obtain money from thepublic to fight for purity and when a man comes to you with facts andwith the gameness to help you fight, you say you are not interested. "

Trubus waved his hand toward the door by which Burke had entered. 

"I have to make an address to our Board of Directors this afternoon, "he said, "and I don't care to associate my activities nor those of thecause for which I stand with the police department. You had bettercarry your information to your superiors. "

"But, I tell you I have the leads which will land a gang of organizedprocurers, if you will give me any of your help. The police are tryingto do the best they can, but they have to fight district politics, saloon men, and every sort of pull against justice. Your society isn'tafraid of losing its job, and it can't be fired by political influence. Why don't you spend some of your money for the cause that's aliveinstead of on furniture and stenographers and diamond rings!"

The cat was out of the bag. 

Trubus brought his fist down with a bang which spilled grape juice onhis neat piles of papers. 

"Don't you dictate to me. You police are a lot of grafters, in leaguewith the gangsters and the politicians. My society cares for theunfortunate and seeks to work its reforms by mentally and spirituallyuplifting the poor. We have the support of the clergy and those peoplewho know that the public and the poor must be brought to a spiritualunderstanding. Pah! Don't come around to me with your story of'organized traffic. ' That's one of the stories originated by thepolice to excuse their inefficiency!"

Burke's eyes flamed as he stood his ground. 

"Let me tell you, Mr. Trubus, that before you and your clergy can doany good with people's souls you've got to take more care of theirbodies. You've got to clean out some of the rotten tenement houseswhich some of your big churches own. I've seen them--breeding placesfor tuberculosis and drunkenness, and crime of the vilest sort. You'vegot to give work to the thousands of starving men and women, who aredriven to crime, instead of spending millions on cathedrals and altarsand statues and stained glass windows, for people who come to church intheir automobiles. A lot of your churches are closed up when theneighborhood changes and only poor people attend. They sell theproperty to a saloonkeeper, or turn it into a moving-picture house andburn people to death in the rotten old fire-trap. And if you don'traise your hand, when I come to you fair and square, with an honeststory--if you dare to order me out of here, because you've got to gab alot of your charity drivel to a board of directors, instead of takingthe interest any real man would take in something that was real andvital and eating into the very heart of New York life, I'm going toshow you up, and put you out of the charity business----so help me God!"

Burke's right arm shot into the air, with the vow, and his fistclenched until the knuckles stood out ridged against the bloodlesspallor of his tense skin. 

Trubus looked straight into Burke's eyes, and his own gaze droppedbefore the white flame which was burning in them. 

Burke turned without a word and walked from the office. 

After he had gone Trubus rang the buzzer for his telephone girl. 

"Miss Emerson, did that policeman leave his name and station?"

"No, sir; but I know his number. He's mighty fresh. "

"Well, I must find out who he is. He is a dangerous man. "

Trubus turned toward his mail, and with a slight tremor in his handwhich the shrewd girl noticed began to open the letters. 

Check after check fluttered to the surface of the desk, and the greatphilanthropist regained his composure by degrees. When he hadcollected the postage offertory, carefully indorsed them all, andassembled the funds sent in for his great work, he slipped them into agenerously roomy wallet, and placed the latter in the pocket of hisfrock coat. 

He opened a drawer in his desk, and drew forth a tan leather bank book. Taking his silk hat from the bronze hook by the door, he closed thedesk, after slamming the Bible shut with a sacrilegious impatience, quite out of keeping with his manner of a half hour earlier. 

"I am going to the bank, Miss Emerson. I will return in half an hourto lead in the prayer at the opening of the directors' meeting. Kindlyinform the gentlemen when they arrive. "

He slammed the door as he left the offices. 

The telephone operator abstractedly chewed her gum as she watched hisdeparture. 

"I wonder now. I ain't seen his nibs so flustered since I been on thisjob, " she mused. "That cop must 'ave got his goat. I wonder!"

CHAPTER IX

THE BUSY MART OF TRADE

The hypocrisy of William Trubus and the silly fatuity of his reformwork rankled in Burke's bosom as he betook himself uptown to enjoy hisbrief vacation for an afternoon with his old friend, the inventor. Later he was to share supper when the girls came home from their work. 

John Barton was busy with his new machine, and had much to talk about. At last, when his own enthusiasm had partially spent itself, he noticedBurke's depression. 

"What is the trouble, my boy? You are very nervous. Has anything gonewrong?"

Bobbie hesitated. He wished to avoid any mention of the case in whichLorna had so unfortunately figured. But, at last, he unfolded thestory of his interview with the alleged philanthropist, describing thesituation of the gangsters and their work in general terms. 

Barton shook his head. 

"They're nearly all alike, these reformers in mahogany chairs, Burke. I've been too busy with machinery and workmen, whom I always tried tohelp along, to take much stock in the reform game. But there's nodenying that we do need all the reforming that every good man in theworld can give us. Only, there are many ways to go about it. Even I, without much education, and buried for years in my own particular kindof rut, can see that. "

"The best kind of reform will be with the night stick and the bars ofSing Sing, Mr. Barton, " answered Burke. "Some day the police will worklike army men, with an army man at the head of them. It won't bepolitics at all then, but they'll have the backing of a man who is onthe firing line, instead of sipping tea in a swell hotel, or swappingyarns and other things in a political club. That day is not fardistant, either, to judge from the way people are waking things up. But we need a little different kind of preaching and reforming now. "

Barton leaned back in his wheel chair and spoke reminiscently. 

"Last spring I spent Sunday with a well-to-do friend of mine in abeautiful little town up in Connecticut. We went to church. It was anold colonial edifice, quaint, clean, and outside on the green before itwere forty or fifty automobiles, for, as my friend told me with pride, it was the richest congregation in that part of New England. 

"Inside of the church was the perfume of beautiful spring flowers whichdecorated the altar and were placed in vases along the aisles. In thecongregation were happy, well-fed, healthy business men who enlivenedexistence with golf, motoring, riding, good books, good music, goodplays and good dinners. Their wives were charmingly gowned. Theirchildren were rosy-cheeked, happy and normal. 

"The minister, a sweet, genial old chap, recited his text after thesinging of two or three beautiful hymns. It was that quotation fromthe Bible: 'Look at the lilies of the field. They toil not, neither dothey spin. ' In full, melodious tones he addressed his congregation, confident in his own faith of a delightful hereafter, and still betterblessed with the knowledge that his monthly check was not subject tothe rise and fall of the stock market!

"In his sermon he spoke of the beauties of life, the freshness ofspring, its message of eternal happiness for those who had earned thegolden reward of the Hereafter. He preached optimism, the subject ofthe unceasing care and love of the Father above; he told of thespiritual joy which comes only with a profound faith in the Almighty, who observes even of the fall of the sparrow. 

"Through the window came the soft breezes of the spring morning, theperfume of buds on the trees and the twitter of birds. It was a sweetrelief to me after having left the dreary streets of the city and ourbusy machine shop behind, to see the happiness, content, decency andright living shining in the faces of the people about me. The charm ofthe spring was in the message of the preacher, although it was in hiscase more like the golden light of a sunset, for he was a good old man, who had followed his own teachings, and it was evident that he wasbeloved by every one in his congregation. A man couldn't help lovingthat old parson--he was so happy and honest!

"When he completed his sermon of content, happiness and unfalteringfaith, a girl sang an old-time offertory. The services were closedwith the music of a well-trained choir. The congregation rose. Theworshippers finally went out of the church, chatting and happy with thethought of a duty well done in their weekly worship, and, last but notleast, the certainty of a generous New England dinner at home. Thechurch services were ended. Later in the afternoon would be a shortsong service of vespers and in the evening a simple and sincere meetingof sweet-minded, clean-souled young men and women for prayer service. It was all very pretty. 

"As I say, Burke, it was something that soothed me like beautiful musicafter the rotten, miserable, wretched conditions I had seen in thecity. It does a fellow good once in a while to get away from the gripof the tenements, the shades of the skyscrapers, the roar of thefactories, and the shuffling, tired footsteps of the crowds, the smellof the sweat-shops. 

"But, do you know, it seemed to me that that minister missed something;that he was _too contented_. There was a message that man _could_ havegiven which I think might perhaps have disagreed with the digestions ofhis congregation. Undoubtedly, it would have influenced the hand thatwrote the check the following month. 

"I wondered to myself why, at least, he could not have spoken to hisflock in words something like this, accompanied by a preliminary poundon his pulpit to awaken his congregation from dreams of golf, roastchicken and new gowns:

"'You business men who sit here so happy and so contented withhonorable wives, with sturdy children in whose veins run the blood of adozen generations of decent living, do you realize that there are anyother conditions in life but yours? Do you know that Henry Brown, JoeSmith and Richard Black, who work as clerks for you down in your NewYork office, do not have this church, do not have these spring flowersand the Sunday dinners you will have when you go back home? Does itoccur to you that these young men on their slender salaries may besupporting more people back home than you are? Do you know that manyof them have no club to go to except the corner saloon or the poolroom? Do you know that the only exercise a lot of your poor clerks, assistants and factory workers get is standing around on the streetcorners, that the only drama and comedy they ever see is in a dirty, stinking, germ-infected, dismal little movie theater in the slums; thatthe only music they ever hear is in the back room of a Raines Law hotelor from a worn-out hurdy-gurdy?

"'Why don't you men take a little more interest in the young fellowswho work for you or in some of the old ones with dismal pasts and worsefutures? Why don't you well-dressed women take an interest in thestenographers and shop girls, the garment-makers--_not_ to condescendand offer them tracts and abstracts of the Scriptures--but to improvethe moral conditions under which they work, the sanitary conditions, and to arrange decent places for them to amuse themselves after hours. 

"'Surely you can spare a little time from the Golf Clubs and UniversityClubs and Literary Clubs and Bridge Clubs and Tango Parties. Let metell you that if you do not, during the next five or ten years, thepeople of these classes will imbibe still more to the detriment of ourrace, the anarchy and money lust which is being preached to them daily, nightly and almost hourly by the socialists, the anarchists and theatheists, who are all soured on life because they've never _had_ it!

"'The tide of social unrest is sweeping across to us from the Old Worldwhich will engulf our civilization unless it is stopped by the jettiesof social assistance and the breakwaters of increased moral education. You can't do this with Sunday-school papers and texts! You can't stemthe movement in your clubs by denouncing the demagogues over highballglasses and teacups. 

"'It is all right to have faith in the good. It is well to have hopefor the future. Charity is essential to right living and righthelping. But out of the five million people in New York City, fourmillion and a half have never seen any evidence of Divine assistancesuch as our Good Book says is given to the sparrow. They are notlilies of the field. They must toil or die. You people are to themthe lilies of the field! Your fine gowns, your happy lives, yourendless opportunities for amusement; your extravagances are to them asthe matador's flag to the bull in the Spanish ring. Unless you _do_take the interest, unless you _do_ fight to stem the movement of thesedwarfed and bitter leaders, unless you _do_ overcome their argumentsbased on much solid-rock truth by definite personal work, by definiteconstructive education, your civilization, my civilization and thecivilization of all the centuries will fall before socialism andanarchy. '

"But _that_ was not what he said. I have never heard the minister of arich congregation say that yet. Have you, Burke?"

"No, the minister who talked like that would have to look for a newpulpit, or get a job as a carpenter, like the Minister long ago, whomade the rich men angry. But I had no idea that you thought about suchthings, Mr. Barton. You'd make a pretty good minister yourself. "

The old inventor laughed as he patted the young man on the back. 

"Burke, the trouble with most ministers, and poets, and painters, andnovelists, and law-makers, and other successful professional men whoare supposed to show us common, working people the right way to go isthat they don't get out and mix it up. They don't have to work for amean boss, they don't know what it is to go hungry and starved andafraid to call your soul your own--scared by the salary envelope at theend of the week. They don't get out and make their _souls_ sweat_blood_. Otherwise, they'd reform the world so quickly that men likeTrubus wouldn't be able to make a living out of the charity game. "

Barton smiled jovially. 

"But here we go sermonizing. People don't want to listen to sermonsall the time. "

"Well, we're on a serious subject, and it means our bread and butterand our happiness in life, when you get right down to it, " said Bobbie. "I don't like sermons myself. I'd rather live in the Garden of Eden, where they didn't need any. Wouldn't you?"

"Yes, but my wheel chair would find it rough riding without anyclearings, " said Barton. "By the way, Bob, I've some news for you. Mylawyer is coming up here to-night, to talk over some patent matters, and you can lay your family matters before him. He'll attend to thatand you may get justice done you. If you have some money back inIllinois, you ought to have it. "

"He can get all he wants--if he gives me some, " agreed Burke, "and I'llback your patents. "

The old man started off again on his plans, and they argued andexplained to each other as happy as two boys with some new toys, untilthe sisters came home. 

Lorna was distinctly cool toward Burke, but, under a stern look fromMary, gave the outward semblance of good grace. The fact that he hadbeen present in her home at the time of her disastrous escapade, eventhough she believed him ignorant of it, made the girl sensitive andaloof. 

She left Mary alone with him at the earliest pretext, and Bobbie hadinteresting things to say to her: things which were nobody's businessbut theirs. 

Barton's lawyer came before Burke left to report for evening duty, andhe spent considerable effort to learn the story of the uncle and thecurious will. 

Now a digression in narrative is ofttimes a dangerous parting of ways. But on this particular day Bobbie Burke had come to a parting of theways unwittingly. He had left the plodding life of routine excitementof the ordinary policeman to embark upon a journey fraught withmultifold dangers. In addition to his enemies of the underworld, hehad made a new one in an entirely different sphere. 

To follow the line of digression, had the reader gone into the samebuilding on Fifth Avenue which Burke had entered that afternoon, perhaps an hour later, and had he stopped on the third floor, entered adoor marked "Mercantile Agency, " he would have discovered a very busylittle market-place. The first room of the suite of offices thusindicated was quite small. A weazened man, with thin shiny fingers, anunnaturally pallid face, and stooped shoulders, sat at a small flat-topdesk, inside an iron grating of the kind frequently seen in cashiers'offices. 

He watched the hall door with beady eyes, and whenever it opened toadmit a newcomer he subjected that person to keen scrutiny; then hepushed a small button which automatically clicked a spring in the lockof the grated door. 

This done, it was possible for the approved visitor to push past into alarger room shut off from the first office by a heavy door whichinvariably slammed, because it was pulled shut by a strong wire springand was intended to slam. 

The larger room opened out on a rear court, and, upon passing one ofthe large dirty windows, a fire escape could be descried. Around thisroom were a number of benches. Close scrutiny would have disclosed thefact that they were old-fashioned church pews, dismantled from somedisused sanctuary. Two large tables were ranged in the center of theroom. 

The floor was extremely dirty. The few chairs were very badly worn, and the only decorations on the walls were pasted clippings of prizefighters and burlesque queens, cut from the pages of _The PoliceGazette_ and the sporting pages of some newspapers. 

Into this room, all through the afternoon, streamed a curious medley ofpeople. Tall men, small men, rough men, dapper men, and loudly dressedwomen, who for the most part seemed inclined to corpulence. Theytalked sometimes; many seemed well acquainted. Others appeared to bestrangers, and they glanced about them uneasily, apparently suspiciousof their fellows. 

This seemed a curious waiting room for a Fifth Avenue "MercantileAgency. "

But inside the room to the left, marked "private, " was the explanationof the mystery; at last there was a partial explanation of the curiousthrong. 

As the occupants chatted, or kept frigid and uneasy silence, in theouter room a fat man, smooth of face and monkish in appearance, occasionally appeared at the private portal and admitted one person ata time. 

After disappearing through this door, his visitors were not seen again, for they left by another door, which automatically closed and lockeditself as they went directly into the hall corridor where the elevatorsran. 

In the private office of the "Mercantile Agency" the fat man would sitat his desk and listen attentively to the words of his visitor. 

"Speak up, Joe. You know I'm hard of hearing--don't whisper to me, "was the tenor of a remark which he seemed to direct to every visitor. Yet strangely enough he frequently stopped to listen to voices in theouter room, which he appeared to recognize without difficulty. 

On this particular afternoon a dapper-dressed youth was an early caller. 

"Well, Tom, what luck on the steamer? Now, don't swallow your voice. Remember, I got kicked in the ear by a horse before I quit bookmaking, and I have to humor my hearing. "

"Oh, it was easy. That Swede, Jensen, came over, you know, and he hadpicked out a couple of peachy Swede girls who were going to meet theircousin at the Battery. Minnie and I went on board ship as soon as shedocked, to meet our relatives, and we had a good look at 'em while theywere lined up with the other steerage passengers. They were fine, andwe got Jensen to take 'em up to the Bronx. They're up at Molloy'shouse overnight. It's better to keep 'em there, and give 'em somefood. You know, the emigrant society is apt to be on the lookoutto-day. The cousin was there when the ferry came in from the Island, all right, but we spotted him before the boat got in, and I had MickeyBrown pick a fight with him, just in time to get him pinched. He wasfour blocks away when the boat landed, and Jensen, who had made friendswith the girls coming over, told them he would take 'em to his aunt'shouse until they heard from their cousin. "

"What do they look like? We've got to have particulars, you know. "

"Well, one girl is tall, and the other rather short. They both haveyellow hair and cheeks like apples. One's name is Lena and the otherMarda--the rest of their names was too much for me. They're both abouteighteen years old, and well dressed, for Swedes. "

The fat man was busy writing down certain data on a pad arranged in acurious metal box, which looked something like those on which grocers'clerks make out the order lists for customers. 

"Say, Henry, what do you use that thing for? Why don't you use afountain pen and a book?" asked the dapper one. 

"That's my affair, " snapped the fat man. "I want this for records, andI know how to do it. Go on. What did Mrs. Molloy pay you?"

"Well, you know she's a tight one. I had to argue with her, and I havea lot of expense on this, anyway. "

"Go on--don't begin to beef about it. I know all about the expenses. We paid the preliminaries. Now, out with the money from Molloy. Itwas to be two hundred dollars, and you know it. Two hundred apiece isthe exact figure. "

The visitor stammered, and finally pulled out a roll of yellow-backedbills "Well, I haven't gotten mine yet, " he whined. 

"Yours is just fifty on this, for you've had a steamer assignment everyday this week. You can give your friend Minnie a ten-spot. Now, report here to-morrow at ten, for I've a new line for you. Good day. Shut the door. "

The fat man was accustomed to being obeyed. The other departed with asurly manner, as though he had received the worst of a bargain. Themanager jotted down the figures on the revolving strip of paper, forsuch it was, while the pencil he used was connected by two little metalarms to the side of the mechanism. Some little wheels inside theregister clicked, as he turned the paper lever over for a clean record. He put the money into his wallet. 

He went to the door to admit another. 

"Ah, Levy, what do you have to say?"

"Ah, Meester Clemm, eet's a bad bizness! Nattings at all to-day. I'vebeen through five shoit-vaist factories, and not a girl could I get. Too much of dis union bizness. I told dem I vas a valking delegate, but I don't t'ink I look like a delegate. Vot's to be done?"

The manager looked at him sternly. 

"Well, unless you get a wiggle on, you'll be back with a pushcart, where you belong, over on East Broadway, Levy. The factories are fullof girls, and they don't make four dollars a week. Lots of prettyones, and you know where we can place them. One hundred dollarsapiece, if a girl is right, and that means twenty-five for you. You'vebeen drawing money from me for three weeks without bringing in a cent. Now you get on the job. Try Waverley Place and come in here to-morrow. You're a good talker in Yiddish, and you ought to be able to get someaction. Hustle out now. I can't waste time. "

The manager jotted down another memorandum, and again his machineclicked, as he turned the lever. 

A portly woman, adorned in willow plumes, sealskin cloak and wearinglarge rhinestones in her rings and necklace, now entered at themanager's signal. 

"Well, Madame Blanche, what have you to report?"

"I swear I ain't had no luck, Mr. Clemm. Some one's put the gipsycurse on me. Twice this afternoon in the park I've seen two prettygirls, and each time I got chased by a cop. I got warned. I thinkthey're gettin' wise up there around Forty-second Street and SixthAvenue. "

"Well, how about that order we had from New Orleans? That hasn't beenpaid yet. You know it was placed through you. You got your commishout of it, and this establishment always wants cash. No money orders, either. Spot cash. We don't monkey with the United States mail. There's too many city bulls looking around for us now to get UncleSam's men on the job. "

The portly person under the willow plume, with a tearful face, began towipe her eyes with a lace kerchief from which, emanated the odor ofJockey Club. 

"Oh, Mr. Clemm, you are certainly the hardest man we ever had to dobusiness with. I just can't pay now for that, with my high rents, andgettin' shook down in the precinct and all. "

"Can it, Madame Blanche. I'm a business man. They're not doing anyshaking down just now in your precinct. I know all about the policesituation up there, for they've got a straight inspector. Now, I wantthat four hundred right now. We sent you just what was ordered and ifI don't get the money right now you get blacklisted. Shell out!"

The manager's tone was hard as nails. 

"Oh, Mr. Clemm . .. Well, excuse me. I must step behind your desk toget it, but you ain't treatin' me right, just the same, to force itthis way. "

Madame Blanche, with becoming modesty, stepped out of view in order todraw forth from their silken resting place four new one hundred dollarbills. She laid them gingerly and regretfully on the desk, where theywere quickly snatched up by the business-like Clemm. 

"Maybe I'll have a little order for next week, if you can give betterterms, Mr. Clemm, " began the lady, but the manager waved her aside. 

"Nix, Madame. Get out. I'm busy. You know the terms, and I adviseyou not to try any more of this hold-out game. You're a week late now, and the next time you try it you'll be sorry. Hurry. I've got a lotof people to see. "

She left, wiping her eyes. 

The next man to enter was somewhat mutilated. His eye was blackenedand the skin across his cheek was torn and just healing from a freshcut. 

"Well, well, well! What have you been up to, Barlow? A prize fight?"snapped Clemm. 

"Aw, guv'nor, quit yer kiddin'. Did ye ever hear of me bein' in afight? Nix. I tried to work dis needle gag over in Brooklyn an' I gotrun outen de t'eayter on me neck. Dere ain't no luck. I'd better goback to der dip ag'in. "

"You stick to orders and stay around those cheap department stores, asyou've been told to do, and you'll have no black eyes. Last month youbrought in eleven hundred dollars for me, and you got three hundred ofit yourself. What's the matter with you? You look like a panhandler?Don't you save your money? You've got to keep decently dressed. "

"Aw, guv'nor, I guess it's easy come, easy go. Ain't dere nottin'special ye kin send me on?"

"Report here to-morrow at eleven. We're planning something prettygood. Here's ten dollars. Go rig yourself up a little better and getthat eye painted out. Hustle up. I'm busy. "

The dilapidated one took the bill and rolled his good eye in gratitude. 

"Sure, guv'nor, you're white wid me. I kin always git treated righthere. "

"Don't thank me, it's business. Get out and look like a man when I seeyou next. I don't want any bums working for me. "

The fat man jotted down a memorandum of his outlay on the littlemachine. Then he admitted the next caller. 

"Ah, it's you, Jimmie. Well, what have you to say? You've beenworking pretty well, so Shepard tells me. What about his row the othernight? I thought that girl was sure. "

"Well, Mr. Clemm, ye see, we had it fixed all right, an' some foxy ginkblows in wid a taxi an' lifts de dame right from outen Shepard's mit!De slickest getaway I ever seen. I don't know wot 'is game is, but hesure made some getaway, an' we never even got a smell at 'im. "

"Who was with you on the deal? Who did the come-on?"

"Oh, pretty Baxter. You knows, w'en dat boy hands 'em de goo-goo an'wiggles a few Tangoes he's dere wid both feet! But dis girl was backon de job ag'in in her candy store next day. But Baxter'll git 'eryit. Shepard's pullin' dis t'eayter manager bull, so he'll git de gameyet. "

"Did her folks get wise?"

"Naw, not as we kin tell. Shepard he seen her once after she left destore. De trouble is 'er sister woiks in de same place. We got tergit dat girl fired, and den it'll be easy goin'. De goil gits homewidout de sister findin' out about it, she tells Shepard. I don'tquite pipe de dope on dis butt-in guy. But he sure spoiled Shepard'sbeauty fer a week. Dere's only one t'ing I kin suspect. "

"All right, shoot it. You know I'm busy. This girl's worth the fight, for I know who wants one just about her looks and age. What is it?We'll work it if money will do it, for there's a lot of money in thisor I wouldn't have all you fellows on the job. I saw a picture shegave Baxter. She's a pretty little chicken, isn't she?"

"Shoor! Some squab. Well, Mr. Clemm, dere's a rookie cop down in deprecinct w'ere I got a couple workin', named Burke. Bobbie Burke, damn'im! He gave me de worst beatin' up I ever got from any cop, an' I'mon bail now for General Sessions fer assaultin' 'im. "

"What's he got to do with it?"

"Well, dis guy was laid up in de hospital by one of me pals who put 'imout on first wid a brick. He got stuck on a gal whose old man was indat hospital, and dat gal is de sister of dis yere Lorna Barton. Doesye git me?"

Clemm's eyes sparkled. 

"What does he look like? Brown hair, tall, very square shoulders?" heasked. 

"Exact! He's a fresh guy wid his talk, too--one of dem ejjicated cops. Dey tells me he was a collige boy, or in de army or somethin'. "

"Could he have known about Lorna Barton going out with Baxter thatnight Shepard was beaten?"

"My Gaud! Yes, cause Baxter he tells me Burke was dere at de house. "Clemm nodded his head. 

"Then you can take a hundred to one shot tip from me, Jimmie, that thisBurke had something to do with Shepard. He may have put one of hisfriends on the job. Those cops are not such dummies as we think theyare sometimes. That fellow's a dangerous man. "

Clemm pondered for a moment. Jimmie was surprised, for the manager ofthe "Mercantile Agency" was noted for his rapid-fire methods. The Monkknew that something of great importance must be afoot to cause thisdelay. 

The manager tapped the desk with his fingers, as he moved his lips, ina silent little conversation with himself. At last he banged the deskwith vehemence. 

"Here, Jimmie. I'm going to entrust you with an important job. "

The Monk brightened and smiled hopefully. 

"How much money would it take to put Officer Bobbie Burke, if that'shis name, where the cats can't keep him awake at night?"

Jimmie looked shiftily at the manager. 

"You mean. .. "

He drew his hand significantly across his throat, raising his heavyeyebrows in a peculiar monkey grimace which had won for him hissoubriquet. 

"Yes, to quiet his nerves. It's a shame to let these ambitious youngpolicemen worry too much about their work. "

"I kin git it done fer twenty-five dollars. "

"Well, here's a hundred, for I'd like to have it attended to neatly, quietly and permanently. You understand me?"

"Say, I'm ashamed ter take money fer dis!" laughed Jimmie the Monk. 

"Don't worry about that, my boy. Make a good job of it. It's justbusiness. I'm buying the service and you're selling it. Now get out, for I've got a lot more marketing to do. "

Jimmie got. 

It was indeed a busy little market place, with many commodities forbarter and trade. 

CHAPTER X

WHEN THE TRAIN COMES IN

Burke was sent up to Grand Central Station the following morning byCaptain Sawyer to assist one of the plain-clothes men in theapprehension of two well-known gangsters who had been reported bytelegraph as being on their way to New York. 

"We want them down in this precinct, Burke, and you have seen thesefellows, so I want to have you keep a sharp lookout in the crowd whenthe train comes in. In case of a scuffle in a crowd, it's not bad tohave a bluecoat ready, because the crowd is likely to take sides. Anyway, there's apt to be some of this gas-house gang up there towelcome them home. And your club will do more good than a revolver ina railroad station. You help out if Callahan gives you the sign, otherwise just monkey around. It won't take but a few minutes, anyway. "

Burke went up to the station with the detective. 

They watched patiently when the Chicago train came in, but there was nosign of the desired visitors. The detective entered the gate, when allthe passengers had left, and searched the train. 

"They must have gotten off at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, fromwhat the conductor could tell me. If they did, then they'll be nabbedup there, for Sawyer is a wise one, and had that planned, " saidCallahan. "I'll just loiter around the station a while to see anyfamiliar faces. You can go back to your regular post, Burke. "

Bobbie bade him good-bye, and started out one of the big entrances. Ashe did so he noticed a timid country girl, dressed ridiculously behindthe fashions, and wearing an old-fashioned bonnet. She carried arattan suitcase and two bandboxes. 

"I wonder if she's lost, " thought Burke. "I'll ask her. She looksscared enough. "

He approached the young woman, but before he reached her a well-dressedyoung man accosted her. They exchanged a few words, and the fellowevidently gave her a direction, looking at a paper which she clutchedin her nervous hand. The man walked quickly out of the building towardthe street. Unseen by Burke, he whispered something to another nattilyattired loiterer, an elderly man, who started toward the "car stop. "

As Burke rounded the big pillar of the station entrance the man againaddressed the country girl. 

"There's your car, sis, " he said, with a smile. Bobbie looked at himsharply. 

There was something evil lurking in that smooth face, and the fellowstared impudently, with the haunting flicker of a scornful smile in hiseyes, as he met the gaze of the policeman. 

The country girl hurried toward the north-bound Madison Avenue car, which she boarded, with several other passengers. Among them was thegray-haired man who had received the mysterious message. 

Burke watched the car disappear, and then turned to look at the smilingyoung man, who lit a cigarette, flicking the match insolently near thepoliceman's face. 

"Move on, you, " said Burke, and the young man shrugged his shoulders, leisurely returning to the waiting room of the station. 

Burke was puzzled. 

"I wonder what that game was? Maybe I stopped him in time. He lookslike a cadet, I'll be bound. Well, I haven't time to stand around hereand get a reprimand for starting on a wild-goose chase. "

So Burke returned to the station house and started out on his rounds. 

Had he taken the same car as the country girl, however, he would haveunderstood the curious manoeuvre of the young man with the smile. 

When the girl had ridden almost to the end of the line she left the carat a certain street. The elderly gentleman with the neat clothes andthe fatherly gray hair did so at the same time. She walked uncertainlydown one street, while he followed, without appearing to do so, on theopposite side. He saw her looking at the slip of paper, while shestruggled with her bandboxes. He casually crossed over to the sameside of the thoroughfare. 

"Can I direct you, young lady?" he politely asked. 

He was such a kind-looking old gentleman that the girl's confidence waseasily won. 

"Yes, sir. I'm looking for the Young Women's Christian Association. Ithought it was down town, but a gentleman in the depot said it was onthat street where I got off. I don't see it at all. They're allprivate houses, around here. You know, I've never been in New YorkCity before, and I'm kinder green. "

"Well, well, I wouldn't have known it, " said her benefactor. "TheY. W. C. A. Is down this street, just in the next block. You'll see thesign on the door, in big white letters. I've often passed it on my wayto church. "

"Oh, thank you, sir, " and the country girl started on her quest oncemore, with a firmer grip on the suitcase and the bandboxes. 

Sure enough, on the next block was a brownstone building--more or lessdilapidated in appearance, it is true--just as he had prophesied. 

There were the big white letters painted on a sign by the door. Thegirl went up the steps, rang the bell, and was admitted by a tousled, smirking negress. 

"Is this here the Y. W. C. A. ?" she asked nervously. 

"Yassim!" replied the darkie. "Come right in, ma'am, and rest yohbundles. "

The girl stepped inside the door, which closed with a click that almoststartled her. She backed to the door and put her hand on the knob. Itdid not turn!

"Are you _sure_ this is the Y. W. C. A. ?" she insisted. "I thought it wasa great big building. "

"Oh, yas, lady; dis is it. Yoh all don't know how nice dis buildin' isontel you go through it. Gimme yoh things. "

The negress snatched the suitcase from the girl's hand and whisked oneof the bandboxes from the other. 

"Here, you let go of that grip. I got all my clothes in there, and Idon't think I'm in the right place. "

As she spoke a plump lady, wearing rhinestone rings and a necklace ofthe same precious tokens, whom the reader might have recognized as noother than the tearful Madame Blanche, stepped from the parlor. 

"Oh, my dear little girl. I'm so glad you came. We were expectingyou. I am the president of the Y. W. C. A. , you know. Just go rightupstairs with Sallie, she'll show you to your room. "

"Expecting me? How could you be? I didn't send word I was coming. Ijust got the address from our minister, and I lost part of it. "

"That's all right, dearie. Just follow Sallie; you see she is takingyour clothes up to your room. I'll be right up there, and see that youare all comfortable. "

The bewildered girl followed the only instinct which asserteditself--that was to follow all her earthly belongings and getpossession of them again. She walked into the trap and sprang up thestairs, two steps at a time, to overtake the negress. 

Madame Blanche watched her lithe grace and strength as she sped upwardswith the approving eye of a connoisseur. 

"Fine! She's a beauty--healthy as they make 'em, and her cheeks areredder than mine, and mine cost money--by the box. Oh, here comes Pop. "

She turned as the door was opened from the outside. It was a doorwhich required the key from the inside, on certain occasions, and itwas still arranged for the easy ingress of a visitor. 

"Well, Blanche, what do you think?" inquired the benevolent oldgentleman who had been such an opportune guide to the girl fromup-State. 

"Pop, she's a dandy. Percy can certainly pick 'em on the fly, can'the?"

"Well, don't I deserve a little credit?" asked the old gentleman, hisvanity touched. 

"Yes, you're our best little Seeing-Noo-Yorker. But say, Pop, Percyjust telephoned me in time. We had to paint out that old sign, "helpwanted, " and put on 'Y. W. C. A. ' Sallie is a great sign painter. We'llhave trouble with this girl. She's a husky. But won't Clemm roll hiseyes when he sees her?"

"Naw, he don't regard any of 'em more than a butcher does a new pieceof beef. He's a regular business man, that's all. No pride in hisart, nor nothing like that, " sighed Pop. "But that girl made a hitwith me, old as I am. She's a peach. "

"Well, she won't look so rosy when Shepard shows her that she's got tomind. He's a rough one, he is. It gets on my nerves sometimes. Theyyell so, and he's got this whip stuff down too strong. You know Ithink he's act'ally crazy about beatin' them girls, and makin' themagree to go wherever we send 'em. He takes too much fun out of it, andwhen he welts 'em up it lowers the value. He'll be up this afternoon. We must have him ease it up a bit. "

"Oh, well, he's young, ye know, " said Pop. "Boys will be boys, andsome of 'em's rough once in a while. I was a boy myself once. " And hepulled his white mustache vigorously as he smiled at himself in thelarge hall mirror. 

"You'd better be off down to the station again, Pop, " said MadameBlanche. "They're going to send over two Swedish girls from Molloy'sin the Bronx this afternoon, and then put 'em on through to St. Paul. I've got a friend out there who wants 'em to visit her. Then Baxtertelephoned me that he had a little surprise for me, later to-day. He'sbeen quiet lately, and it's about time, or he'll have to get a job inthe chorus again to pay his manicure bills. "

Pop took his departure, and, as Sallie came down the stairs with asmile of duty done, Madame Blanche could hear muffled screams fromabove. 

"Where is she, Sallie?"

"She's in de receibin' room, Madame. Jes' let 'er yowl. It'll do hergood. I done' tol' er to save her breaf, but she is extravagant. Waitontil Marse Shepard swings dat whip. She'll have sompen to sing about!"

And Sallie went about her duties--to put out the empty beer bottles forthe brewery man and to give the prize Pomeranian poodle his morningbath. 

Madame Blanche retired to her cosy parlor, where, beneath the staringeyes of her late husband's crayon portrait, and amused by the squawkingof her parrot, she could forget the cares of her profession in thelatest popular problem novel. 

On the floor above a miserable, weeping country lassie was beating herhands against the thick door of the windowless dark room until theywere bruised and bleeding. 

She sank to her knees, praying for help, as she had been taught to doin her simple life back in the country town. 

But her prayers seemed to avail her naught, and she finally sank, swooning, with her head against the cruel barrier. Back in therailroad station, Percy and his kind-faced assistant, Pop, wereprospecting for another recruit. 

CHAPTER XI

THE POISONED NEEDLE

That afternoon Burke improved his time, during a two-hour respite, tohunt for a birthday present for Mary. 

Manlike, he was shy of shops, so he sought one of the big departmentstores on Sixth Avenue, where he instinctively felt that everythingunder the sun could be bought. 

As Bobbie paused before one of the big display windows on the sidewalkhe caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. It was that instinct whichone only half realizes in a brief instant, yet which leaves a strongreaction of memory. 

"Who was that?" he thought, and then remembered: Baxter. 

Burke followed the figure which had passed him so quickly, and foundthe same dapper young man deeply engrossed in the window display ofwomen's walking suits. 

"What can he find so interesting in that window?" mused Burke. "I'lljust watch his tactics. I don't believe that fellow is ever any placefor any good!"

He stood far out on the sidewalk, close to the curb. The passingthrong swept in two eddying, opposite currents between him and Baxter, whose attention seemed strictly upon the window. 

"Well, there's his refined companion, " was Burke's next impression, ashe espied the effeminate figure of Craig, strolling along the sidewalkclose to the same window. 

"Can they be pickpockets? I would guess that was too risky for them totake a chance on. "

Neither youth spoke to the other, although they walked very close toeach other. As Burke scrutinized their actions he saw a young girl, tastefully dressed in a black velvet suit, with a black hat, turn aboutexcitedly. She looked about her, as though in alarm, and her face wasdistorted with pain. Baxter gave her a shifty look and followed her. Craig had been close at her side. 

Burke drew nearer to the girl. She seemed to falter, as she walked, and it was apparently with great effort that she neared the door of thebig department store. Baxter was watching her stealthily now. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed desperately and keeled backward. Baxter'scalculations were close, for he caught her in his arms. 

"Quick! Quick!" he cried to the big uniformed carriage attendant atthe door. "Get me a taxicab. My sister has fainted. "

The man whistled for a machine, as Burke watched them. The officer wascalculating his own chances on what baseball players call a "doubleplay. " Craig was close behind Baxter, in the curious crowd. Burkeguessed that it would take at least a minute or two for Baxter to getthe girl into a machine. So he rushed for Craig and surprised thatyoung gentleman with a vicious grasp of the throat. 

"Help! Police!" cried Craig, as some women screamed. His wish wasdoubly answered, for Burke's police whistle was in his mouth and heblew it shrilly. A traffic squad man rushed across from the middle ofthe street. 

"Hurry, I want to get my sister away!" ordered Baxter excitedly to thedoor man. "You big boob, what's the matter with you?"

The crowd of people about him shut off the view of Burke's activitiesfifteen feet away. Baxter was nervous and was doing his best to make aquick exit with his victim. 

"What's this?" gruffly exclaimed the big traffic policeman, as hecaught Craig's arm. 

"The needle!" grunted Burke. "Here, I've got it from his pocket. "

He drew forth a small hypodermic needle syringe from Craig's coatpocket, and held it up. 

"It's a frame-up!" squealed Craig. 

"Take him quick. I want to save the girl!" exclaimed Burke, as herushed toward Baxter. 

That young man was just pushing the girl into the taxicab when amiddle-aged woman rushed out from the store entrance. 

"That's my daughter Helen! Helen, my child!"

At this there was terrific confusion in the crowd, and Burke saw Baxtergive the girl a rough shove away from the taxicab door. He slipped abill into the chauffeur's willing hand and muttered an order. The carsprang forward on the instant. 

"I'll get that fellow this time!" muttered Burke. "He hasn't seen me, and I'll trail him. "

He turned about and espied a big gray racing car drawn up at the curb. A young man weighted down under a heavy load of goggles, fur and otherracing appurtenances sat in the car. Its engines were humming merrily. 

"Say, you, follow that car for me, " sung out Officer 4434, delighted athis discovery. "The taxicab with the black body. "

The driver of the racer snorted contemptuously. 

"Do you know who _I_ am?"

Burke wasted no time, but jumped into the seat, for it was as opportuneas though placed there by Providence. Perhaps Providence has more todo with some coincidences than the worldly wise are prone to confess. 

"_I'm_ Officer 4434 of the Police Department, and you mind my orders. "

"Well, I'm Reggie Van Nostrand, " answered the young man, "and I takeorders from no man. "

Burke knew this young millionaire by reputation. But he was nowisedaunted. He kept his eye on the distant taxicab, which had luckilybeen halted at the second cross street by the delayed traffic. 

"I'm going to put this pretty car of yours in the scrap heap, and I'mgoing to land you in jail, with all your money, " calmly replied Burke, drawing his revolver. "The man in that taxi is a white slaver who justtried the poison needle on a girl, and you and I are going to capturehim. "

The undeniable sporting blood surged in the veins of Reggie VanNostrand, be it said to his credit. It was not the threat. 

"I'm with you, Officer!" He pressed a little lever with his foot andthe big racing machine sprang forward like a thing possessed by a demonof speed. 

The traffic officer on the other street tried to stop the car, until hesaw the uniform of the policeman in the seat. 

Bob waved his hand, and the fixed post man held back several machines, in order to give him the right of way. 

They were now within a block of the other car. 

"Say, haven't you another robe or coat that I can put on to cover myuniform, for that fellow will suspect a chase, anyway?"

"Yes, there at your feet, " replied Van Nostrand shortly. "It's myfather's. He'll be wondering who stole me and the car. Let himwonder. "

Burke pulled up the big fur coat and drew it around his shoulders asthe car rumbled forward. He found a pair of goggles in a pocket of thecoat. 

"I don't need a hat with these to mask me, " he exclaimed. "Now, watchout on your side of the car, and I'll do it on mine, for he's a slyone, and will turn down a side street. "

They did well to keep a lookout, for suddenly the pursued taxi turnedsharply to the right. 

After it they went--not too close, but near enough to keep track of itsmanoeuvres. 

"He's going up town now!" said Reggie Van Nostrand, when the car haddiverged from the congested district to an open avenue which ran northand south. The machine turned and sped along merrily toward Harlem. 

"We're willing, " said Burke. "I want to track him to his headquarters. "

Block after block they followed the taxicab. Sometimes they nosedalong, at Burke's suggestion, so far behind that it seemed as though aquick turn to a side street would lose their quarry. But it wasevident that Baxter had a definite destination which he wished to reachin a hurry. 

At last they saw the car stop, and then the youth ahead dismounted. 

He was paying the chauffeur as they whizzed past, apparently giving himno heed. 

But before they had gone another block Burke deemed it safe to stop. 

He signaled Van Nostrand, who shut off the power of the miraculous caralmost as easily as he had started it. Burke nearly shot over thewindshield with the momentum. 

"Some car!" he grunted. "You make it behave better than a horse, and Ithink it has more brains. "

Nothing in the world could have pleased the millionaire more than this. He was an eager hunter himself by now. 

"Say, supposing I take off my auto coat and run down that street andsee where he goes to?"

"Good idea. I'll wait for you in the machine, if you're not afraid ofthe police department. "

"You bet I'm not. Here, I'll put on this felt hat under the seat. They won't suspect me of being a detective, will they?"

"Hardly, " laughed Burke, as the young society man emerged from hischrysalis of furs and goggles, immaculately dressed in a frock coat. He drew out an English soft hat and even a cane. "You are ready forwar or peace, aren't you?"

Van Nostrand hurried down the street and turned the corner, changinghis pace to one of an easy and debonair grace befitting the possessorof several racing stables of horses and machines. 

He saw his man a few hundred yards down the street. Van Nostrandwatched him sharply, and saw him hesitate, look about, and then turn tothe left. He ascended the steps of a dwelling. 

By the time Van Nostrand had reached the house, to pass it with thebarest sidelong glance, the pursued had entered and closed the door. The millionaire saw, to his surprise, a white sign over the door, "Swedish Employment Bureau. " The words were duplicated in Swedish. 

"That's a bally queer sign!" muttered Reggie. "And a still queererplace for a crook to go. I'll double around the block. "

As he turned the corner he saw an old-fashioned cab stop in front ofthe house. Two men assisted a woman to alight, unsteadily, and helpedher up the steps. 

"Well, she must be starving to death, and in need of employment, "commented the rich young man. "I think the policeman has brought me toa queer hole. I'll go tell him about it. "

The fashionable set who dwell on the east side of Central Park wouldhave spilled their tea and cocktails about this time had they seen theelegant Reggie Van Nostrand breaking all speed records as he dasheddown the next street, with his cane in one hand and his hat in theother. He reached the car, breathless, but his tango athletics hadstood him in good stead. 

"What's up?" asked Burke, jumping from the seat. 

"Why, that's a Swedish employment agency, and I saw two men lead awoman up the steps from a cab just now. What shall we do?"

"You run your machine to the nearest drug store and find out where thenearest police station is. Then get a few cops in your machine, andcome to that house, for you'll find me there, " ordered Burke. "How fardown the block?"

"Nearly to the next corner, " answered Reggie, who leaped into hisracing seat and started away like the wind. 

Burke hurried down, following the path of the other, until he came tothe house. He looked at the sign, and then glanced about him. He sawan automobile approaching, and intuitively stepped around the steps ofthe house next door, into the basement entry. 

He had hardly concealed himself when the machine stopped in front ofthe other dwelling. 

A big Swede, still carrying his emigrant bundle, descended from themachine, and called out cheerily in his native language to theoccupants within the vehicle. Burke, peeping cautiously, saw two buxomSwedish lassies, still in their national costumes, step down to thestreet. The machine turned and passed on down the street. 

Burke saw the man point out the sign of the employment agency, and thegirls chattered gaily, cheered up with hopes of work, as he led them upthe steps. 

The door closed behind them. 

Burke quietly walked around the front of the house and up the stepsafter them. He had made no noise as he ascended, and as he stood bythe wall of the vestibule he fancied he detected a bitter cry, muffledto an extent by the heavy walls. 

He examined the sign, and saw that it was suspended by a small wireloop from a nail in the door jamb. 

Bobbie reached upward, took the sign off its hook, and turned it about. 

"Well, just as I thought!" he exclaimed. 

On the reverse side were the tell-tale letters, "Y. W. C. A. "

"They are ready for all kinds of customers. I wonder how they'll likeme!" was the humorous thought which flitted through his mind as hequietly turned the knob. It opened readily. 

Bobbie stood inside the hallway, face to face with the redoubtable Pop!

Pop's eyes protruded as they beheld this horrid vision of a bluecoat. A cynical smile played about Burke's pursed lips as he held the sign uptoward the old reprobate. 

"Can I get a job here? Is there any work for me to do in thisemployment agency?" he drawled quietly. 

Pop acted upon the instinct which was the result of many years'dealings with minions of the law. He had been a contributor to the"cause" back in the days of Boss Tweed. He temporarily forgot thattimes had changed. 

"That's all right, pal, " he said, with a sickly smile, "just a littletoken for the wife and kids. "

He handed out a roll of bills which he pressed against Bobbie's hands. The policeman looked at him with a curious squint. 

"So, you think that will fix me, do you?"

"Well, if you're a little hard up, old fellow, you know I'm a goodfellow. .. . "

Up the stairs there was a scuffle. 

Bobbie heard another scream. So, before Pop could utter another soundhe pushed the old man aside and rushed up, three steps at a time. Thefirst door he saw was locked--behind it Bobbie knew a woman was beingmistreated. 

He rushed the door and gave it a kick with his stout service boots. 

A chair was standing in the hall. He snatched this up and begansmashing at the door, directing vigorous blows at the lock. The firstleg broke off. Then the second. The third was smashed, but the fourthone did the trick. The door swung open, and as it did so a waterpitcher, thrown with precision and skill, grazed his forehead. Only aquick dodge saved him from another skull wound. 

Burke sprang into the room. 

There were three men in it, while Madame Blanche, the proprietress ofthe miserable establishment, stood in the middle transfixed with fear. She still held in her hand the black snake whip with which she had been"taming" one of the sobbing Swedish girls. The Swede held one of hiscountry-women in a rough grip. 

The country girl, who had been hitherto locked in the closet, was downon her knees, her bruised hands outstretched toward Burke. 

"Oh, save me!" she cried. 

The last of the victims, who was evidently unconscious from a drug, waslying on the floor in a pathetic little heap. 

Baxter was cowering behind the bed. 

The barred windows, placed there to prevent the escape of theunfortunate girl prisoners, were their Nemesis, for they were at themercy of the lone policeman. 

"Drop that gun!" snapped Burke, as he saw the Swede reaching stealthilytoward a pocket. 

His own, a blue-steeled weapon, was swinging from side to side as hecovered them. 

"Hands up, every one, and march down these stairs before me!" heordered. Just then he heard a footstep behind him. Old Pop wascreeping up the steps with Madame Blanche's carving knife, snatchedhastily from the dining-room table. 

Burke, cat-like, caught a side glance of this assailant, and he swungcompletely around, kicking Pop below the chin. That worthy tumbleddown the stairs with a howl of pain. 

"Now, I'm going to shoot to kill. Every court in the state willsustain a policeman who shoots a white-slaver. Don't forget that!"cried Burke sharply. "You girls let them go first. "

[Illustration: "I'm going to shoot to kill. Every court in the statewill sustain a policeman who shoots a white-slaver. "]

Down the steps went the motley crew, backing slowly at Burke's order. The girls, sobbing hysterically with joy at their rescue, almostimpeded the bluecoat's defense as they clung to his arms. 

It was a curious procession which met the eyes of Reggie Van Nostrandand half a dozen reserves who had just run up the steps. 

"Well, I say old chap, isn't this jolly?" cried Reggie. "This beatsany show I ever saw! Why, it's a regular Broadway play!"

"You bet it is, and you helped me well. The papers ought to give you agood spread to-morrow, Mr. Van Nostrand, " answered Bobbie grimly, as heshook the young millionaire's hand with warmth. The gang were rapidlybeing handcuffed by the reserves. 

Bobbie turned toward Baxter. It was a great moment of triumph for him. "Well, Baxter, so I got you at last! You're the pretty boy who takesyoung girls out to turkey trots! Now, you can join a dancing class upthe Hudson, and learn the new lock-step glide!"

CHAPTER XII

THE REVENGE OF JIMMIE THE MONK

At the uptown station house Burke and his fellow officers had more thana few difficulties to surmount. The two Swedish girls were hystericalwith fright, and stolid as the people of northern Europe generally are, under the stress of their experience the young women were almostuncontrollable. It was not until some gentle matrons from the SwedishEmigrant Society had come to comfort them in the familiar tongue thatthey became normal enough to tell their names and the address of theunfortunate cousin. This man was eventually located and he led hiskinswomen off happy and hopeful once more. 

Sallie, the negress, was remanded for trial, in company with hersobbing mistress, who realized that she was facing the certainty of aterm of years in the Federal prison. 

Uncle Sam and his legal assistants are not kind to "captains ofindustry" in this particular branch of interstate commerce. 

"We have the goods on them, " said the Federal detective who had beensummoned at once to go over the evidence to be found in the carefullyguarded house of Madame Blanche. "This place, to judge from therecords has been run along two lines. For one thing, it is what weterm a 'house of call. ' Madame Blanche has a regular card index of atleast two hundred girls. "

"Then, that gives a pretty good list for you to get after, doesn't it?"said Burke, who was joining in the conference between the detective, the captain of the precinct, and the inspector of the police district. 

"Well, the list won't do much good. About all you can actually proveis that these girls are bad ones. There's a description of each girl, her age, her height, her complexion and the color of her hair. It'shorribly business like, " replied the detective. "But I'm used to this. We don't often get such a complete one for our records. This listalone is no proof against the girls--even if it does give the listprice of their shame, like the tag on a department store article. Thiswoman has been keeping what you might call an employment agency bytelephone. When a certain type of girl is wanted, with a certainprice--and that's the mark of her swellness, as you might callit--Madame Blanche is called up. The girl is sent to the addressgiven, and she, too, is given her orders over the telephone; so you seenothing goes on in this house which would make it strictly within thelaw as a house of ill repute. "

"But, do you think there is much of this particular kind of trade?"queried Bobbie. "I've heard a lot of this sort of thing. But I putdown a great deal of it to the talk of men who haven't anything elsemuch to discuss. "

"There certainly is a lot of it. When the police cleaned up the olddistricts along Twenty-ninth Street and Thirtieth and threw the regularhouses out of the business, the call system grew up. These girls, manyof them, live in quiet boarding houses and hotels where they keep up astrict appearance of decency--and yet they are living the worst kind ofimmoral lives, because they follow this trade scientifically. "

Reggie Van Nostrand, by reason of his gallant assistance, and at hisurgent request, had been allowed to listen. 

"By George, gentlemen, I have a lot of money that I don't know what todo with. I wish there was some way I could help in getting this sortof thing stopped. Here's my life--I've been a silly spender of a lotof money my great grandfather made because he bought a farm and neversold it--right in the heart of what is now the busy section of town. Ican't think of anything very bad that I've done, and still less anygood that will amount to anything after I die. I'm going to spend someof what I don't need toward helping the work of cleaning out this evil. "

The inspector grunted. 

"Well, young man, if you spend it toward letting people know just howbad conditions are, and not covering the truth up or not trying toreform humanity by concealing the ugly things, you may do a lot. Butdon't be a _reformer_. "

"What can be done with this woman Blanche?" asked Van Nostrand meekly. 

"She'll be put where she won't have to worry about telephone calls andcard indexes. Every one of these girls should be locked up, and givena good strong hint to get a job. It won't do much good. But, we'vegot this much of their records, and will be able to drive some of themout of the trade. When every big city keeps on driving them out, andthe smaller cities do the same, they'll find that it's easier to giveup silk dresses forever and get other work than to starve to death. But you can't get every city in the country doing this until the menand women of influence, the mothers and fathers are so worked up overthe rottenness of it all that they want to house-clean their ownsurroundings. "

"One thing that should be done in New York and other towns is to putthe name of the owner of every building on a little tablet by the door. If that was done here in New York, " said the inspector, "you'd besurprised to see how much real estate would be sold by church vestries, charitable organizations, bankers, old families, and other people whoget big profits from the high rent that a questionable tenant iswilling to pay. "

"Madame Blanche, and these poor specimens of manhood with her areguilty of trafficking in girls for sale in different states. TheseSwedes were to be sent to Minnesota, and her records show that she hasbeen supplying the Crib, in New Orleans, and what's left of the BarbaryCoast in Chicago. Why, she has sent six girls to the Beverly Club inChicago during the last month. "

"Where does she get them all?" asked Burke. "I've been trailing someof these gangsters, but they certainly can't supply them all, likethis. "

The detective shook his head, and spoke slowly. 

"There are about three big clearing houses of vice in New York, andthey are run by men of genius, wealth and enormous power. I'm going torun them down yet. You've helped on this, Officer Burke. If you cando more and get at the men higher up--there's not a mention of theirlocation in all of Blanche's accounts, not a single check book--then, you will get a big reward from the Department of Justice. For UncleSam is not sleeping with the enemy inside his fortifications. "

Burke's eyes snapped with the fighting spirit. 

"I've been doing my best with them since I got on the force, and I hopeto do more if they don't finish me first. A little Italian fruit mandown in my precinct sent word to me to-day that they were 'after me. 'So, maybe I will not have a chance. "

Van Nostrand interrupted at this point. 

"Well, Officer 4434, you can have the backing of all the money you needas far as I am concerned. You'll have to come down to my offices someday soon, and we'll work out a plan of getting after these people. CanI do anything more, inspector?"

The official shook his head. 

"There's a poor young woman here who is half drugged, and doesn't knowwho she is, " he began. 

"Well, send her to some good private hospital and have her taken careof and send the bill to me, " said Reggie. "I've got to be gettingdowntown. Goodbye, Officer Burke, don't forget me. "

"Goodbye--you've been a fine chauffeur and a better detective, " saidthe young policeman, "even if you are a millionaire. " And the twoyoung men laughed with an unusual cordiality as they shook hands. Despite the difference in their stations it was the similarity of redblood in them both which melted away the barriers, and later developedan unconventional and permanent friendship between them. 

Burke talked with Henrietta Bailey, the country girl, who satdejectedly in the station house. She had no plans for the future, having come to the big city to look for a position, trusting in thehelp of the famous Y. W. C. A. Organization, of whose good deeds andprotection she had heard so much, even in the little town up state. 

"I'll call them up, down at their main offices, " said Bobbie, "but it'sa big society and they have all they can do. Wouldn't you like to meeta nice sweet girl who will take a personal interest in you, and go downthere with you herself?"

Henrietta tried to hold back the tears. 

"Oh, land sakes, " she began, stammering, "I . .. Do . .. Want to justblubber on somebody's shoulder. I'm skeered of all these New Yorkfolks, and I'm so lonesome, Mr. Constable. "

"We'll just cure that, then, " answered Burke. "I'll introduce you tothe very finest girl in the world, and she'll show you that hearts beatas warmly in a big city as they do in a village of two hundred people. "

Bobbie lost no time in telephoning Mary Barton, who was just on thepoint of leaving Monnarde's candy store. 

She came directly uptown to meet the country girl and take her to themodest apartment for the night. 

Bobbie devoted the interim to making his report on the unusualcircumstances of his one-man raid . .. And dodging the police reporterswho were on the scene like hawks as soon as the news had leaked out. 

Despite his declaration that the credit should go to the precinct inwhich the arrests had been made half a dozen photographers, with theirblack artillery-like cameras had snapped views of the house, and somegrotesque portraits of the young officer. Other camera men, withnewspaper celerity, had captured the aristocratic features of ReggieVan Nostrand and his racing car, as he sat in it before his FifthAvenue club. It was such a story that city editors gloated over, andit was to give the embarrassed policeman more trouble than it was worth. 

Bobbie's telephone report to Captain Sawyer, explaining his absencefrom the downtown station house was greeted with commendation. 

"That's all right, Burke, go as far as you like. A few more cases likethat and you'll be on the honor list for the Police Parade Day. Cleanit up as soon as you can, " retorted his superior. 

When Mary took charge of Henrietta Bailey, the hapless girl felt asthough life were again worth living. After a good cry in the matron'sroom, she was bundled up, her rattan suitcase and the weather-beatenband boxes were carried over to the Barton home. 

"I don't know whether you had better say anything about this Baxter toLorna or not, " said Bobbie, as he stood outside the house, to start onhis way downtown. "It's a horrible affair, and her escape from theman's clutches was a close one. "

"She's cured now, however, " stoutly declared Mary. "I have no fearsfor Lorna. "

"Then do as you think best. I'll see you to-morrow afternoon, there atthe store, and you can take supper downtown with me if you would like. If there is any way I can help about this girl let me know. "

They separated, and Mary took her guest upstairs. 

Her father was greatly excited for he had just put the finishingtouches on his dictagraph-recorder. His mind was so over-wrought withhis work that Mary thought it better not to tell him of the excitingafternoon until later. She simply introduced Henrietta as a friendfrom the country who was going to spend the night. Lorna was courteousenough to the newcomer, but seemed abstracted and dreamy. Sheneglected the little household duties, making the burden harder forMary. Henrietta's rustic training, however, asserted itself, and shegladly took a hand in the preparation of the evening meal. 

"I've a novel I want to finish reading, Mary, " said her sister, "and ifyou don't mind I'm going to do it. You and Miss Bailey don't need me. I'll go into our room until supper is ready. "

"What is it, dear? It must be very interesting, " replied Mary, a shadeof uneasiness coming over her. "You are not usually so literary afterthe hard work at the store all day. "

Lorna laughed. 

"It's time I improved my mind, then. A friend gave it to me--it's thestory of a chorus girl who married a rich club man, by Robin Chalmers, and oh, Mary! It's simply the most exciting thing you ever read. Thestage does give a girl chances that she never gets working in a store, doesn't it?"

"There are several kinds of chances, Lorna, " answered the older girlslowly. "There are many girls who beautify their own lives by theirsuccess on the stage, but you know, there are a great many more whofind in that life a terrible current to fight against. While they maymake large salaries, as measured against what you and I earn, they mustrehearse sometimes for months without salary at all. If the show issuccessful they are in luck for a while, and their pictures are inevery paper. They spend their salary money to buy prettier clothes andto live in beautiful surroundings, and they gauge their expendituresupon what they are earning from week to week. But girls I have knowntell me that is the great trouble. For when the play loses itspopularity, or fails, they have accustomed themselves to extravaganttastes, and they must rehearse for another show, without money comingin. "

"Oh, but a clever girl can pick out a good opportunity. "

"No, she can't. She is dependent upon the judgment of the managers, and if you watch and see that two of every three shows put on right inNew York never last a month out, you'll see that the managers' judgmentis not so very keen. Even the best season of a play hardly laststhirty weeks--a little over half a year, and so you must divide agirl's salary in two to find what she makes in a year's time. You andI, in the candy store, are making more money than a girl who gets threetimes the money a week on the stage, for we have a whole year of work, and we don't have to go to manicures and modistes and hairdressers twoor three times a week. "

"Well, I wish we did!" retorted Lorna petulantly. "There's no romancein you, Mary. You're just humdrum and old-fashioned and narrow. Thinkof the beautiful costumes, and the lights, the music, the applause ofthousands! Oh, it must be wonderful to thrill an audience, and havehundreds of men worshiping you, and all that, Mary. "

Her sister's eyes filled with tears as she turned away. 

"Go on with your book, Lorna, " she murmured. "Maybe some day you'llread one which will teach you that old fashions are not so bad, thatthere's romance in home and that the true, decent love of one man is amillion times better than the applause, and the flowers, and theflattery of hundreds. I've read such books. "

"Hum!" sniffed Lorna, "I don't doubt it. Written by old maids whocould never attract a man, nor look pretty themselves. Well, none ofthe girls I know bother with such books: there are too many lively oneswritten nowadays. Call me when supper is ready, for I'm hungry. "

And she adjusted her curls before flouncing into the bedroom to loseherself in the adventures of the patchouli heroine. 

It was a quiet evening at the Barton home. The father was tooengrossed to give more than abstracted heed, even to the appetizingmeal. Mary forbore to interrupt his thoughts about the new machine. She felt a hesitation about narrating the afternoon's adventures ofBobbie Burke to Lorna, for the girl seemed estranged and eager only forthe false romance of her novel. With Henrietta, Mary discussed theopportunities for work in the great city, already overcrowded withstruggling girls. So convincing was she, the country lass decided thatshe would take the train next morning back to the little town where shecould be safe from the excitement and the dangers of the city lure. 

"I reckon I'm a scared country mouse, " she declared. "But I'm oldenough to know a warning when I get one. The Lord didn't intend me tobe a city girl, or he wouldn't have given me this lesson to-day. I'vegot my old grand dad up home, and there's Joe Mills, who is foreman inthe furniture factory. I think I'd better get back and help Joe spendhis eighteen a week in the little Clemmons house the way he wanted meto do. "

"You couldn't do a better thing in the world, " said Mary, patting herhand gently as they sat in the cosy little kitchen. "Your little townwould be a finer place to bring up little Joes and little Henriettasthan this big city, wouldn't it? And I don't believe the right Joeever comes but once in a girl's life. There aren't many fellows whoare willing to share eighteen a week with a girl in New York. "

Mary's guest blushed happily as the light of a new determination shonein her eyes. She opened a locket which she wore on a chain around herneck. 

"I always thought Joe was nice, and all that--but I read these herestories about the city fellers, and I seen the pictures in themagazines, and thought Joe was a rube. But he ain't, is he?"

She held up the little picture, as she opened the locket, for Mary'sscrutiny. The honest, smiling face, the square jaw, the clear eyes ofJoe looked forth as though in greeting of an old friend. 

"You can't get back to Joe any too quickly, " advised Mary, andHenrietta wiped her eyes. She had received a homeopathic cure of thecity madness in one brief treatment!

It was not a quiet evening for Officer 4434. 

When he emerged from the Subway at Fourteenth Street a newsboyapproached him with a bundle of papers. 

"Uxtry! Uxtry!" shouted the youngster. "Read all about de cop and demillionaire dat captured de white slavers!"

The lad shoved a paper at Bobbie, who tossed him a nickel and hurriedon, quizzically glancing at the flaring headlines which featured thename of Reggie Van Nostrand and his own. The quickly madeillustrations, showing his picture, the machine of the young clubman, and the house of slavery were startling. The traditional arrowindicated "where the battle was fought, " and Burke laughed as hestudied the sensational report. 

"Well, I look more like a gangster, according to this picture, thanJimmie the Monk! Those news photographers don't flatter a fellow verymuch. "

At the station house he was warmly greeted by his brother officers. Itwas embarrassing, to put it mildly; Burke had no desire for a pedestal. 

"Oh, quit it, boys, " he protested. "You fellows do more than thisevery day of your lives. I'm only a rookie and I know it. I don'twant this sort of thing and wish those fool reporters had minded theirown business. "

"That's all right, Bobbie, " said Doctor MacFarland, who had dropped inon his routine call, "you'd better mind your own p's and q's, for youwill be a marked man in this neighborhood. It's none too savory atbest. You know how these gunmen hate any policeman, and now they'vegot your photograph and your number they won't lose a minute to usethat knowledge. Keep your eyes on all points of the compass when yougo out to-night. "

"I'll try not to go napping, Doc, " answered Burke gratefully. "You'rea good friend of mine, and I appreciate your advice. But I don'texpect any more trouble than usual. "

After his patrol duty Burke was scheduled for a period on fixed post. It was the same location as that on which he had made the acquaintanceof Jimmie the Monk and Dutch Annie several months before. As acoincidence, it began to storm, just as it had on that memorableevening, except that instead of the blighting snow blizzards, furioussheets of rain swept the dirty streets, and sent pedestrians under thedripping shelter of vestibules and awnings. 

Burke, without the protection of a raincoat, walked back and forth inthe small compass of space allowed the peg-post watcher, beating hisarms together to warm himself against the sickening chill of hisdripping clothes. 

As he waited he saw a man come out of the corner saloon. 

It was no other than Shultberger, the proprietor of the café and itscabaret annex. The man wore a raincoat, and a hat pulled down over hiseyes. He came to the middle of the crossing and closely scrutinizedthe young policeman. 

"Is dot you, Burke?" he asked gruffly. 

"Yes, what do you want of me?"

"Veil, I joost vanted to know dat a good man vos on post to-night, forI expect troubles mit dese gun-men. Dey don't like me, und I t'oughtI'd find out who vos here. "

This struck 4434 as curious. He knew that Shultberger was the guardianangel of the neighborhood toughs in time of storm and trouble. Yet hewas anxious to do his duty. 

"What's the trouble? Are they starting anything?"

The saloon man shook his head as he started back to his café. 

"Oh, no. But ve all know vot a fighter you vos to-day. De papers isfull mit it. Dey've got purty picture of you, too. I joost vosskeered dot dey might pick on me because I vos always running a orderlyplace, und because I'm de frend of de police. I'll call you if I needyou. "

He disappeared in the doorway. 

Burke watched him, thinking hard. Perhaps they were planning somedeviltry, but he could not divine the purpose of it. At any rate hewas armed with his night stick and his trusty revolver. He had a clearspace in which to protect himself, and he was not frightened by ghosts. So, alert though he was, his mind was not uneasy. 

He turned casually, on his heels, to look up the Avenue. He wasstartled to see two stocky figures within five feet of him. That quickright-about had saved him from an attack, although he did not realizeit. The approach of the men had been absolutely noiseless. 

The rain beat down in his face, and the men hesitated an instant, asthough interrupted in some plan. It did not occur to Burke that theyhad approached him with a purpose. 

He looked at them sharply, by force of habit. Their evil faces showedpallid and grewsome in the flickering light of the arc-lamp on thecorner by Shultberger's place. 

The two men glared at him shrewdly, and then passed on by without aword. They walked half way down the block, and Burke, watching themfrom the corner of his eye, saw them cross the street and turn into therear entrance of Shultberger's cabaret restaurant. 

"Well, he's having some high-class callers to-night, " mused Burke. "Perhaps he'll need a little help after all. "

Even as he thought this he heard a crash of broken glass, and he turnedabruptly toward the direction of the sound. 

The arc-light had gone out. 

Burke walked across the street and fumbled with his feet, feeling thebroken glass which had showered down near the base of the pole. 

"I wonder what happened to that lamp? They don't burst of their ownaccord like this generally. "

He walked back to his position. The street was now very dark, becausethe nearest burning arc-lamp was half a block to the south. As Burkepondered on the situation he heard footsteps to his left. He turnedabout and a familiar voice greeted him. It was Patrolman Maguire. 

"Well, Burke, your sins should sure be washed away in this deluge! Ithought that I'd step up a minute and give you a chance to go get somedry clothes and a raincoat. You've another hour on the peg before Irelieve you, but hustle down to the station house and rig yourself up, me lad. "

It was a welcome cheery voice from the dismal night shades. But Burkeobjected to the suggestion. 

"No, Maguire, I'll stick it out. I think there's trouble brewing, andit's only sixty more minutes. You keep on your patrol. We both mightget a call-down for changing. "

"Well, begorra, if there's any call-down for a little humanity, I don'tgive a rap. You go get some dry clothes. I know Cap. Sawyer won'tmind. You can be back here in five minutes. You've done enough to-dayto deserve a little consideration, me boy. Hustle now!"

Burke was chilled to the marrow and his teeth chattered, even though itwas a Spring rain, and not the icy blasts of the earlier post nights. 

"Well, keep a sharp lookout for this crowd around Shultberger's, Mack!"

He yielded, and turned toward the station house with a quick stride. He had hardly gone half a block before Maguire had reason to rememberthe warning. A cry of distress came from the vestibule ofShultberger's front entrance. The lights of the saloon had beensuddenly extinguished. 

"Sure, and that's some monkey business, " thought Maguire, as he rantoward the doorway. 

He pounded on the pavement with his night stick, and the resonant soundstopped Burke's retreat to the station. Officer 4434 wheeled about andran for the post he had just left. 

Maguire had barely reached the doorway of the saloon when a revolvershot rang out, and the red tongue licked his face. 

"Now we got 'im!" cried a voice. 

"Kill the rookie!"

"That's Burke, all right!"

Maguire felt a stinging sensation in his shoulder, and his nightstickdropped with a thud to the sidewalk. Three figures pounded upon him, and again the revolver spoke. This time there was no fault in the aim. A gallant Irish soul passed to its final goal as the weapon barked forthe third time. 

Burke's heart was in his mouth; it was no personal fear, but for thebeloved comrade whom he felt sure had stepped into the fate intendedfor himself. He drew his revolver as he ran, and swung his stick fromits leathern handle thong resoundingly on the sidewalk as he racedtoward the direction of the scuffle. 

A short figure darted out from a doorway as he approached the cornerand deftly stuck a foot forward, tripping the policeman. 

"Beat it, fellers!" called this adept, whose voice Burke recognized asthat of Jimmie the Monk. It was a clever campaign which the gangstershad laid out, but their mistake in picking the man cost them dearly. 

As he called, the Monk darted down the street for a quick escape, feeling confident that his enemy was lying dead in the doorway on thecorner. Burke forgot the orders of the Mayor against the use offire-arms; his mind inadvertently swung into the fighting mood of theold days in the Philippines, when native devils were dealt justice asbefitted their own methods. 

He had fallen heavily on the wet pavement, and slid. But, at therecognition of that evil voice, he rolled over, and half lying on thepavement he leveled his revolver at the fleeting figure of the gangleader. 

Bang! One shot did the work, and Jimmie the Monk crumpled forward, with a leg which was never again to lead in another Bowery "spiel" orclub prize fight. 

"He's fixed, " thought Burke, and he sprang up, to run forward to thevestibule of Shultberger's. There he found the body of Maguiresprawled out, with the blood of the Irish kings mingling with therainwater on the East Side street. 

One man was hiding in the doorway's shelter. Another was scuttlingdown the street, to run full into the arms of an approaching roundsman. 

As Burke stooped over the form of his comrade a black-jack struck hisshoulder. He sprang upward, partially numbed from the blow, butsummoning all his strength he caught the gangster by the arm andshoulder and flung him bodily through the glass door which smashed witha clatter. 

Burke kicked at the door as he fought with the murderer, and his weightforced it open. 

A whisky bottle whizzed through the air from behind the bar. Shultberger was in the battle. Burke's night stick ended the strugglewith his one assailant, and he ran for the long bar, which he vaulted, as the saloon-keeper dodged backward. Another revolver shotreverberated as the proprietor retreated. But, at this rough andtumble fight, Burke used the greatest fighting projectile of thepoliceman; he threw the loaded night stick with unerring aim, strikingShultberger full in the face. The man screamed as he fell backward. 

Half a dozen policemen had surrounded the saloon by this time, andBurke fumbled around until he found the electric light switch near thecash register. He threw a flood of light on the scene of destruction. 

Shultberger, pulling himself up to his knees, his face and mouth goryfrom the catapult's stroke, moaned with agony as he clawed blindly. Patrolman White was tugging at the gangster who had been knockedunconscious by Burke's club. Outside two of the uniformed men werereverently lifting the corpse of Terence Maguire, who was on hisEternal Fixed Post. 

"Have . .. Have you sent . .. For an ambulance?" cried Bobbie. 

"Yes, Burke, " said the sergeant, who had examined the dead man. "Butit's too late. Poor Mack, poor old Mack!"

A patrol wagon was clanging its gong as the driver spurred the horseson. Captain Sawyer dismounted from the seat by the driver. The badnews had traveled rapidly. Suddenly Burke, remembering the fleeingJimmie, dashed from the saloon, and forced his way through the swarmingcrowd which had been drawn from the neighboring tenements by theexcitement. 

"Is the boy crazy?" asked Sawyer. "Hurry, White, and notify theCoroner, for I don't intend to allow Terence Maguire to lie in thisrotten den very long. "

Burke ran along the wet street, looking vainly for the woundedgang-leader. Jimmie was not in sight! Burke went the entire length ofthe block, and then slowly retraced his steps. 

He scrutinized every hallway and cellar entrance. 

At last his vigilance was rewarded. Down the steps, beneath ahalf-opened bulkhead door, he found his quarry. 

The Monk was moaning with pain from a shattered leg-bone. 

Burke clambered down and tried to lift the wounded man. 

"Get up here!" he commanded. 

"Oh, dey didn't get ye, after all!" cried Jimmie, recognizing hisvoice. He sank his teeth in the hand which was stretched forth to helphim. Burke swung his left hand, still numb from the black-jack blow onhis shoulder, and caught the ruffian's nose and forehead. A vigorouspull drew the fellow's teeth loose with a jerk. 

"Well, you dog!" grunted the policeman, as he dragged the gangster tothe street level. "You'll have iron bars to bite before many hours, and then the electric chair!"

Jimmie's nerve went back on him. 

"Oh, Gaud! Dey can't do dat! I didn't do it. I wasn't dere!"

Burke said nothing, but holding the man down to the pavement with aknee on his back, he whistled for the patrol wagon. 

The prisoners were soon arraigned, Shultberger, Jimmie the Monk and thefirst gangster were sent to the hospital shortly after under guard. The second runner, who had been caught by White, was searched, and bycomparison of the weapons and the empty chambers of each one the policededuced that it was he who had fired the shots which killed Maguire. The entire band, including the saloon-keeper, were equally guiltybefore the law, and their trial and sentencing to pay the penalty wereassured. 

But back in the station house, late that night, the thought ofpunishment brought little consolation to a heart-broken corps ofpolicemen. 

Big, husky men sobbed like women. Death on duty was no stranger intheir lives; but the loss of rollicking, generous Maguire was a bittershock just the same. 

And next morning, as Burke read the papers, after a wretched, sleeplessnight, he saw the customary fifteen line article, headed: "ANOTHERPOLICEMAN MURDERED BY GANGSTERS. " Five million fellow New Yorkersdoubtless saw the brief story as well, and passed it by to read thebaseball gossip, the divorce news, or the stock quotations--without afleeting thought of regret. 

It was just the same old story, you know. 

Had it been the story of a political boss's beer-party to the bums ofhis ward; had it been an account of Mrs. Van Astorbilt's elopement witha plumber; had it been the life-story of a shooting show girl; had itbeen the description of the latest style in slit skirts; had it been asarcastic message from some drunken, over-rated city official; had itbeen a sympathy-squad description of the hardships and soul-beauties ofa millionaire murderer it would have met with close attention. 

But what is so stale as the oft-told, ever-old yarn of a policeman'sdeath?

"What do we pay them for?"

CHAPTER XIII

LORNA'S QUEST FOR PLEASURE

In the same morning papers Burke saw lengthy notices of the engagementof Miss Sylvia Trubus, only child of William Trubus, the famousphilanthropist, to Ralph Gresham, the millionaire manufacturer ofelectrical machinery. 

"There, that should interest Mr. Barton. His ex-employer is marryinginto a very good family, to put it mildly, and Trubus will have a veryrich son-in-law! I wonder if she'll be as happy as I intend to makeMary when she says the word?"

He cut one of the articles out of the paper, putting it into his pocketto show Mary that evening. He had a wearing and sorrowful day; histestimony was important for the arraignment of the dozen or morecriminals who had been rounded up through his efforts during thepreceding twenty-four hours. The gloom of Maguire's death held him inits pall throughout the day in court. 

He hurried uptown to meet Mary as she left the big confectionery storeat closing time. 

Mary had been busy and worried through the day. At noon she had goneto the station to bid goodbye to Henrietta Bailey, who was now well onher way to the old town and Joe. 

As the working day drew to a close Mary was kept busy filling a largeorder for a kindly faced society woman and her pretty daughter. 

"You have waited on me several times before, " she told Mary, "and youhave such good taste. I want the very cutest bon-bons and favors, andthey must be delivered up on Riverside Drive to our house in time fordinner. You know my daughter's engagement was announced in the papersto-day, while we had intended to let it be a surprise at a big dinnerparty to-night. Well, the dear girl is very happy, and I want thisdinner to give her one of the sweetest memories of her life. "

Mary entered into the spirit with zest, and being a clever saleswoman, she collected a wonderful assortment of dainty novelties andconfections, while the manager of the store rubbed his hands togethergleefully as he observed the correspondingly wonderful size of the bill. 

"There, that should help the jollity along, " said Mary. "I hope I havepleased you. I envy your daughter, not for the candies and the dinner, but for having such a mother. My mother has been dead for years. "

The tears welled into her eyes, and the customer smiled tenderly at her. 

"You are a dear girl, and if ever I have the chance to help you I will;don't forget it. I am so happy myself; perhaps selfishly so. But mylife has been along such even lines, such a wonderful husband, and sucha daughter. I am so proud of her. She is marrying a young man who isvery rich, yet with a strong character, and he will make her very happyI am sure. Well, dear, I will give you my address, for I wish youwould see personally that these goodies are delivered to us withoutdelay. "

Mary took her pad and pencil. 

"Mrs. William Trubus--Riverside Drive. "

The girl's expression was curious; she remembered Bobbie's descriptionof the husband. It hardly seemed possible that such a man could beblessed with so sweet a wife and daughter--but such undeservedblessings seem too often to be the unusual injustice of Fate in thistwisted, tangled old world, as Mary well knew. 

"All right, Mrs. Trubus; I shall follow your instructions and will goto the delivery room myself to see that they are sent out immediately. "

"Good afternoon, my dear, " and Mrs. Trubus and her happy daughter leftthe store. 

Mary was as good as her word, and she made sure that the severalparcels were on their way to Riverside Drive before she returned to thefront of the store. When she did so she saw a little tableau, unobserved by the busy clerks and customers, which made her heart standstill. 

Lorna was standing by one of the bon-bon show cases talking to a tallstranger who ogled her in bold fashion, and a manner which indicatedthat the conversation was far from that of business. 

"Who can that be?" thought Mary. An intuition of danger crept over heras she watched the shades of sinister suggestion on the face of the manwho whispered to her sister. 

The man was urging, Lorna half-protesting, as though refusing someenticing offer. 

Mary stepped closer, and the deep tones of the stranger's voice filledher with a thrill of loathing. It was a voice which she felt she couldnever forget as long as she lived. 

[Illustration: The deep tones of the stranger's voice filled her with athrill of loathing. ]

"Come up to my office with me when you finish work and I'll book you upthis very evening. The show will open in two weeks, and I will giveyou a speaking part, maybe even one song to sing. You know I'm strongfor you, little girl, and always have been. My influence counts alot--and you know influence is the main thing for a successful actress!"

Mary could stand it no longer. 

She touched Lorna on the arm, and the younger girl turned aroundguiltily, her eyes dropping as she saw her sister's stern questioninglook. 

"Who is this man, Lorna?"

The stranger smiled, and threw his head back defiantly. 

"A friend of mine. "

"What does he want?"

"That is none of your affair, Mary. "

"It is my affair. You are employed here to work, not to talk with mennor to flirt. You had better attend to your work. And, as for you, Ishall complain to the manager if you don't get out of here at once!"

The stranger laughed softly, but there was a brutal twitch to his jawas he retorted: "I'm a customer here, and I guess the manager won'tcomplain if I spend money. Here, little girlie, pick me out a nice boxof chocolates. The most expensive you have. I'm going to take mysweetheart out to dinner, and I am a man who spends his money right. I'm not a cheap policeman!"

Mary's face paled. 

Her blood boiled, and only the breeding of generations of gentlewomenrestrained her from slapping the man's face. She watched Lorna, whocould not restrain a giggle, as she took down a be-ribboned candy box, and began to fill it with chocolate dainties. 

"Oh, if Bobbie were only here!" thought Mary in despair. "This man isa villain. It is he who has been filling Lorna's mind with stage talk. I don't believe he is a theatrical man, either. They would not insultme so!"

The manager bustled about. 

"Closing time, girls. Get everything orderly now, and hurry up. Youknow, the boss has been kicking about the waste light bills which yougirls run up in getting things straight at the end of the day. "

Mary turned to her own particular counter, and she saw the big manleave the store, as the manager obsequiously bowed him out. 

In the wardrobe room where they kept their wraps, Mary took Lornaaside. Her eyes were flaming orbs, as she laid a trembling hand uponthe girl's arm. 

"Lorna, you are not going to that man's office?"

"Oh, not right away, " responded her sister airily. "We are going toMartin's first for a little dinner, and maybe a tango or two. What'sthat to you, Mary? Stick to your policeman. "

Mary dropped her hand weakly. She put on her hat and street-coat, hardly knowing what she was doing. 

"Oh, Lorna, child, you are so mistaken, so weak, " she began. 

"I'm not weak, nor foolish. A girl can't live decently on the moneythey pay in this place. I'm going to show how strong I am by earning areal salary. I can get a hundred a week on the stage with my looks, and my voice, and my . .. Figure. .. . "

In spite of her bravado she hesitated at the last word. It was alittle daring, even to her, and she was forcing a bold front tomaintain her own determination, for the girl had hesitated at the man'spleadings until her sister's interference had piqued her into obstinacy. 

"It won't hurt to find out how much I can get, even if I don't take theoffer at all, " Lorna thought. "I simply will not submit to Mary'sdictation all the time. "

Lorna hurried to the street, closely followed by her sister. 

"Don't go, dear, " pleaded Mary. 

But there by the curb panted a big limousine, such as Lorna had alwayspictured waiting for her at a stage door; the big man smiled as he heldopen the door. Lorna hesitated an instant. Then she espied, comingaround the corner toward them, Bobbie Burke, on his way to meet Mary. 

That settled it. She ran with a laugh toward the door of theautomobile and flounced inside, while the big man followed her, slamming the portal as the car moved on. 

"Oh, Bob, " sobbed Mary, as the young officer reached her side. "Followthem. "

"What's the matter?"

"Look, that black automobile!"

"Yes, yes!"

"Lorna has gone into it with a theatrical manager. She is going on thestage!" and Mary caught his hand tensely as she dashed after the car. 

It was a hopeless pursuit, for another machine had already come betweenthem. It was impossible for Burke to see the number of the car, andthen it turned around the next corner and was lost in the heavy traffic. 

"Oh, what are we to do?" exclaimed Mary in despair. 

"Well, we can go to all the theatrical offices, and make inquiries. Ihave my badge under my coat, and they will answer, all right. "

They went to every big office in the whole theatrical district. Butthere, too, the search was vain. Mary was too nervous and wretched toenjoy the possibility of a dinner, and so Burke took her home. Herfather asked for Lorna, to which Mary made some weak excuse whichtemporarily quieted the old gentleman. 

Promising to keep up his search in restaurants and offices, Burkehurried on downtown again. It was useless. Throughout the night hesought, but no trace of the girl had been found. When he finally wentup to the Barton home to learn if the young girl had returned, he foundthe old man frantic with fear and worriment. 

"Burke, some ill has befallen the child, " he exclaimed. "Mary hasfinally told me the truth, and my heart is breaking. "

"There, sir, you must be patient. We will try our best. I can startan investigation through police channels that will help along. "

"But father became so worried that we called up your station. Theofficer at the other end of the telephone took the name, and said hewould send out a notice to all the stations to start a search. "

"Great Scott! That means publicity, Miss Mary. The papers will havethe story sure, now. There have been so many cases of girlsdisappearing lately that they are just eager for another to write up. "

Mary wrung her hands, and the old man chattered on excitedly. 

"Then if it is publicity I don't care. I want my daughter, and I willdo everything in the world to get her. "

Burke calmed them as much as he could, but if ever two people werefrantic with grief it was that unhappy pair. 

[Illustration: Father and daughter were frantic with grief. ]

Bobbie hurried on downtown again, promising to keep them advised aboutthe situation. 

After he left Mary went to her own room, and by the side of the bedwhich she and the absent one had shared so long, she knelt to ask forstronger aid than any human being could give. 

If ever prayer came from the depths of a broken heart, it was thatforlorn plea for the lost sister!

All through the night they waited in vain. 

 * * * * *

The first page of every New York paper carried the sensational story ofthe disappearance of Lorna Barton. Not that such a happening wasunusual, but in view of the white slavery arrests and the gang fight inwhich Bobbie Burke had figured so prominently; his partial connectionwith the case, and those details which the fertile-minded reporterscould fill in, it was full of human interest, and "yellow" as the heartof any editor could desire. 

Pale and heart-sick Mary went down to Monnarde's next morning. Thegirls crowded about her in the wardrobe room, some to express realsympathy, others to show their condescension to one whom they inwardlyfelt was far superior in manners, appearance and ability. 

Mary thanked them, and dry-eyed went to her place behind the counter. For reasons best known to himself, the manager was late in arrivingthat morning. The minutes seemed century-long to Mary as she hopedagainst hope. 

A surprisingly early customer was Mrs. Trubus, who came hurrying infrom her big automobile. She went to Mary's counter and observed thegirl's demeanor. 

"Dear, was it your sister that I read about in the paper this morning?"she inquired. 

"Yes, " very meekly. Mary tried to hold back the tears which seemed sonear the surface. 

"I am so sorry. I remembered that you once spoke of your sister whenyou were waiting on me. The paper said that she worked here atMonnarde's, and I remembered my promise of yesterday that I would doanything for you that I could. Mr. Trubus is greatly interested inphilanthropic work, and of course what I could do would be very smallin comparison to his influence. But if there is a single thing. .. . "

"There's not, I'm afraid. Oh, I'm so miserable--and my poor dear olddaddy!"

Even as she spoke the manager came bustling into the store. He hadevidently passed an uncomfortable night himself, although from anentirely different cause. In his hand he bore the morning paper, whichhe just bought outside the door from one of several newsboys who stoodthere shouting about the "candy store mystery, " as one paper hadheadlined it. 

"See, here!" cried he, turning to Mary at once. "What do you mean bybringing this disgrace down upon the most fashionable candy shop in NewYork. You will ruin our business. "

"Oh, Mr. Fleming, " began Mary brokenly, "I don't understand what youmean. I have done nothing, sir!"

"Nothing! _Nothing_! You and this miserable sister of yours!Complaining to the police, are you, about men flirting with the girlsin my store? Do you think society women want to come to a shop wherethe girls flirt with customers? No! I'm done right now. Get your hatand get out of here!"

"Why, what do you mean?" gasped the girl, her fingers contracting andtwitching nervously. 

"You're fired--bounced--ousted!" he cried. "That's what I mean. " Heturned toward the other girls and in a strident voice, unmindful of thetwo or three customers in the place, continued. "Let this be a lesson. I will discharge every girl in the place if I see her flirting. Theidea!"

And he pompously walked back to his office as important as a toad in alonely puddle. 

Mary turned to the counter, which she caught for support. One of thegirls ran to her, but Mrs. Trubus, standing close by, placed a motherlyarm about her waist. 

"There, you poor dear. Don't you despair. This is a large world, andthere are more places for an honest, clever girl to work in than acandy store run by a popinjay! You get your hat and get right into mycar, and I will take you down to my husband's office, and see what wecan do there. Come right along, now, with me. "

"Oh, I must go home!" murmured Mary brokenly. 

But at the elderly woman's insistence she walked back, unsteadily, tothe wardrobe room for her hat and coat. 

"How dare you walk out the front way, " raved the manager, as she wasleaving with Mrs. Trubus. 

Mary did not hear him. The tears, a blessed relief, were coursing downher flower-white cheeks as the kindly woman steadied her arm. 

"Well! That suits me well enough, " muttered Mr. Flemingphilosophically, as he retired to his private office. "I lost a lot atpoker last night--and here are two salaries for almost a full week thatwon't go into anyone's pockets but my own. First, last and always, abusiness man, say I. "

CHAPTER XIV

CHARITY AND THE MULTITUDE OF SINS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who is this young person, my dear?"

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

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

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

Trubus reddened, and tried to object. 

But his good wife overruled him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A dictagraph!" she exclaimed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He promised. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I help, Mr. Barton?"

"Describe the arrangement of the offices. "

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

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

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

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

The old man worked swiftly. 

Burke scrutinized each move, and nodded in understanding. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes. "

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

"All right, Bob, " said Mary softly. 

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

"Yes. I understand. "

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

Bob was pacing up and down anxiously. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly Mary gripped his hand. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were off on the race to save Lorna!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Grab him, " yelled Burke. 

White did so. This was prisoner number one. 

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

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

He half fell into the room. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Burke was right behind him. 

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

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

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

CHAPTER XV

THE FINISH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her sister comforted her, and turned toward Burke pleadingly. 

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

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

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

He turned to his sergeant. 

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

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

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

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

"I've killed a man. "

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

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

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

Burke was rubbing his left forearm. 

"By Jingo! I believe I hurt myself. "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He's escaped!" exclaimed Sawyer. 

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

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

"Where did you get him, Burke?"

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

"Where is Trubus?"

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

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

They finished the demolition of the door and entered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Burke turned to the door. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The butler bowed as Gresham approached. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why, you. .. . "

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sawyer did not answer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Old Barton reached for Burke's hand. 

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

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

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

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

She held out her hands as she approached him. 

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

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

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

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

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

"DEAR MR. BARTON:

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

Barton dropped the letter to his lap. 

"Now, how does that news strike you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sawyer nodded again to Burke. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: The pretended philanthropist was cornered at last. ]

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

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

"You squealer! You've betrayed me!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

The prisoners were led out. 

Trubus turned and begged with Sawyer for a little time. 

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

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

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

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

The judge looked at Captain Sawyer, who nodded. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why, Sylvia, my child, " he cried. 

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

Trubus paled, but caught her in his arms. 

"My poor dear, " he began. 

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

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

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

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

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

Trubus drew himself up and started for the broad stairway. 

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

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

The policemen were slower than the panic-stricken Trubus. 

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

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

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

 * * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They opened it, and Mary gasped. 

"Why, look at the flowers!"

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

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

A card pinned in the center said:

"From Henrietta and Joe. "

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

THE END