en only by muted groans: they feared the police, even as
did he, although for different reasons. He "frisked" the man nearest him
upon the ground, and captured deftly the rascal's weapon: then he sprang
up covering the twain.

"Get up! Youse guys is poachin' in de wrong district--dis belongs to de
Muggins gang. I'll fix youse guys fer buttin' in. Up, dere!" His hands
went into his coat pockets, but the men knew that they were still
pointing at them, the gunman's "cover" as it is called. They staggered
sullenly to their feet. He beckoned with his head, toward the front of
the lot. They followed the silent instructions, one limping while his
mate wrung the injured wrist in agony.

Directly before the lot stood a throbbing, empty automobile. Shirley
decided to take another car--he could not guard them and drive at the
same time.

"Down to Fift' Avnoo," he ordered. "I got two guns--not a woid
from youse!" His erstwhile amiable physiognomy, now gnarled into an
unrecognizable mask of low villainy bespoke his desperate earnestness.
The men obeyed. This was apparently a gangster, of gangsters--their fear
of the dire vengeance of a rival organization of cut-throats instilled
an obedience more humble than any other threats.

Toward the Park side they advance, one leaning heavily upon the other.
Shirley, his broad shoulders hunched up; with the collar drawn high
about his neck, the murderous looking cap down over his eyes, followed
them doggedly.

A big limousine was speeding down the Avenue from some homing theater
party. Shirley hailed it with an authoritive yell which caused the
chauffeur to put on a quick brake.

"Git out dere,--no gun play. Up inter dat car!" he added, as they
approached the machine.

"Say, what you drivin' at?" cried the driver, queruously. "Is this a
hold-up?" It was a puzzling moment, but the criminologist's calm bravado
saved the situation: as luck would have it no policemen were in sight,
to spoil the maneuver.

"No," and he assumed a more natural voice and dialect. "I'm a detective.
These men were just house-breaking, and I got them. There's twenty-five
dollars in it for you, if you take us down to the Holland Detective
Agency, in ten minutes."

"He's kiddin' ye, feller," snapped out one man.

"Don't fall fen him, yen boob!" sung out the other.

But Shirley's automatic now appeared outside the coat pocket. The
chauffeur realized that here was serious gaming. With his left hand
Shirley jer