Hurry! The chief, I tell you!"

He snapped out the light and turned resolutely to the door. He felt
his faithful Colt, and the feel of the butt was like the touch of a
friendly hand before he opened the door.

She was dressed in white and made a glimmering figure in the darkness
of the hall, and her hair glimmered, also, almost as if it possessed
a light and a life of its own. Ronicky Doone saw that she was a very
pretty girl, indeed. Yes, it must be Caroline Smith. The very perfume
of young girlhood breathed from her, and very sharply and suddenly he
wondered why he should be here to fight the battle of Bill Gregg in
this matter--Bill Gregg who slept peacefully and stupidly in the room
across the street!

She had turned away, giving him only a side glance, as he came out.
"I don't know what's on, something big. The chief's going to give you
your big chance--with me."

Ronicky Doone grunted.

"Don't do that," exclaimed the girl impatiently. "I know you think
Pete is the top of the world, but that doesn't mean that you can make
a good imitation of him. Don't do it, Harry. You'll pass by yourself.
You don't need a make-up, and not Pete's on a bet."

They reached the head of the stairs, and Ronicky Doone paused. To go
down was to face the mysterious chief whom he had no doubt was the old
man to whom Harry Morgan had already referred. In the meantime the
conviction grew that this was indeed Caroline Smith. Her free-and-easy
way of talk was exactly that of a girl who might become interested in
a man whom she had never seen, merely by letters.

"I want to talk to you," said Ronicky, muffling his voice. "I want to
talk to you alone."

"To me?" asked the girl, turning toward him. The light from the hall
lamp below gave Ronicky the faintest hint of her profile.

"Yes."

"But the chief?"

"He can wait."

She hesitated, apparently drawn by curiosity in one direction, but
stopped by another thought. "I suppose he can wait, but, if he gets
stirred up about it--oh, we'll, I'll talk to you--but nothing foolish,
Harry. Promise me that?"

"Yes."

"Slip into my room for a minute." She led the way a few steps down
the hall, and he followed her through the door, working his mind
frantically in an effort to find words with which to open his speech
before she should see that he was not Harry Morgan and cry out to
alarm the house. What should he say? Something about Bill Gregg at
once, of course. That was the thing.

The