ppled with him.

They lurched away from the wall and fell down the stairs. Another man
ran down after them, and Lawrence, who felt very limp, followed
awkwardly. There were lights on the next landing and he saw the
struggling men strike the banisters and stop. One had his hand loose
and held a pistol; his tense, savage face was uppermost. The man who
had gone down after them stooped and struck him with his fist. The
struggle stopped, and Lawrence sat down on the steps and tried to pull
himself together. He knew now how his illness had weakened him.

Then Foster came up the stairs, very hot and breathless, with his
jacket torn, and stopping beside Lawrence, forced a smile.

"It's lucky I got here when I did," he said. "The brute yonder stopped
me coming yesterday."

Foster did not remember his reply, but he got up and went down to where
Walters lay unconscious. As he reached the spot the hotel manager and
a waiter arrived.

"What's the matter? Is he dead?" the manager asked.

"I don't know," said Foster coolly. "It will save the police some
trouble if he is."

"But I want to know what's happened,"

Foster indicated a pistol lying on the steps. "That's his; he tried to
use it. I'll tell you about the thing later. In the meantime, you can
take him to his room and telegraph for the police." He paused and
beckoned Pete. "Go with them and don't lose sight of him until I come.
He'll probably come round soon."

"Weel," said Pete dryly, "I'm thinking he'll no' be verra sensible for
a while yet, but I'll see he doesna' get away."

He and the waiter picked up Walters, and Foster turned to Lawrence.

"Now I'd better wash and straighten myself up. Perhaps you can lend me
a jacket."

Lawrence laughed, a rather strained laugh. "Certainly; come along.
You're a curious combination, partner. I've called you romantic, but
you're not a sentimentalist when you get into action."

XXX

RUN DOWN

Foster did not know what Lawrence told Lucy, because he was occupied
for some time in his room. His lip was cut, his face was bruised, and
there was a lump on his head where he had struck the steps. After he
had attended to the injuries and frowned at his reflection in the
glass, he rang the bell, and asking for some paper took out his
fountain pen. It was not easy to write, but there was something to be
done that had better not be put off. He knew now what the gang was
capable of, and meant to leave a r