ft that they hardly seemed
to proceed from conscious thought. So Barlow, vigilant watcher of faces
that he was, saw nothing unusual in her expression or manner.

"What did you do with him?" she asked.

"Left him with Gavegan--and with Casey, who had just come in. Trailing
with Brainard was a swell named Hunt, cussing mad. He was snorting
around about being pals with most of the magistrates, and swore he'd
have Brainard out on bail inside an hour. But what he does don't make
any difference to me. Your proposition seems to me dead cold, since I've
already got Brainard, and got him right. I wouldn't have bothered to
have come here at all except for something you let drop about the pals
he might have been working with these last few months."

"That's exactly it," she caught him up. "I never thought that you'd
catch Larry Brainard here. How could I, when, if you know me as you say,
you also know that he and I are in different camps--are fighting each
other? What's going to happen here is something that will show you the
people Larry Brainard's been mixed up with--that will turn up for you
the people you want."

"But what's going to happen?" Barlow demanded.

To this Maggie answered in much the same strain she had used with
Hannigan a few minutes earlier. "I told you down at Headquarters that
everything that's important you'll learn by being present when the thing
actually happened. What I tell you doesn't count for much--it might not
be true. It's what you see and hear for yourself when things begin to
happen. You're to wait in here." She led him to the second large closet
and opened the door.

"See here," he demanded, "are you framing something on me?"

"How can I, in a big hotel like this? And even if I were to try, you'd
certainly make me pay for it later. Besides, you've got a gun. Please
go in quick; I'm expecting the people here any minute. And don't make a
sound that might arouse their suspicions and queer everything."

He entered, and she closed the door. So carefully that he did not hear
it, she locked the door; no more than in Hannigan's case did she want
Barlow to come bungling into a scene before it had reached its climax.

All was now ready for the curtain to rise. Quivering all through she
waited for Barney Palmer, whose entrance was to open her drama. She
glanced at her wrist-watch which she had left upon the little lacquered
writing-table. Ten minutes of nine. Ten more minutes to wait. She felt
far