a time the stillness remained unbroken; then a low rattle, as of
dice on a table, caused John Steele to glance through a crevice. What he
saw seemed to decide him to act quickly; he lifted a latch and stepped
in. As he did so a huge man with red hair sprang to his feet; from one
great hand the dice fell to the floor; his shaggy jowl drooped. Casting
over his shoulder the swift glance of an entrapped animal, he seemed
about to leap backward to escape by a rear entrance when the voice of
the intruder arrested his purpose, momentarily held him.

"Oh, I'm alone! There are no police outside." He spoke in the dialect of
the pick-purse and magsman. To prove it, John Steele stooped and locked
the door.

The small bloodshot eyes lighted with wonder; the heavy brutish jaws
began to harden. "Alone?"

The other tossed the key; it fell at the man's feet; John Steele walked
over to the opposite door and shot a heavy bolt there. "Looks as if it
would hold," he said in thieves' argot as he turned around.

"Are ye a gaby?" The red-headed giant stared ominously at him.

"On the contrary," coolly, "I know very well what I am doing."

A question interlarded with oaths burst from the other's throat; John
Steele regarded the man quietly. "I should think it apparent what I
want!" he answered. As he spoke, he sat down. "It is you," bending his
bright, resolute eyes on the other.

"And you've come alone?" He drew up his ponderous form.

John Steele smiled. "I assure you I welcomed the opportunity."

"You won't long." The great fists closed. "Do you know what I am going
to do to you?"

"I haven't any curiosity," still clinging to thieves' jargon or St.
Giles Greek. "But I'm sure you won't play me the trick you did the last
time I saw you."

The fellow shot his head near; in his look shone a gleam of recognition.
"You're the swell cove who wanted to palaver that night when--"

"You tried to rob me of my purse?"

John Steele laughed; his glance lingered on his bulky adversary with
odd, persistent exhilaration, as if after all that had gone before, this
contest royal, which promised to become one of sheer brute strength,
awoke to its utmost a primal fighting force in him. "Do you know the
penalty for attempting that game, Tom Rogers, alias Tom-o'-the-Road;
alias---"

The man fell back, in his eyes a look of ferocious wonderment. "Who are
you? By---!" he said.

"John Steele."

"John Steele?" The bloodshot eyes became slightly vac