fairly. We can both
get away. There's a fortune for both of us there. We both can get away.
You'll be rich for life. Do you understand--for life!"

But the detective, to his credit, only shut his lips the tighter.

"That's enough," he whispered, in return. "That's more than I expected.
You've sentenced yourself already. Come!"

[Illustration: "For God's sake," Hade begged, "let me go."]

Two officers in uniform barred their exit at the door, but Hefflefinger
smiled easily and showed his badge.

"One of Byrnes's men," he said, in explanation; "came over expressly to
take this chap. He's a burglar; 'Arlie' Lane, _alias_ Carleton.
I've shown the papers to the captain. It's all regular. I'm just going
to get his traps at the hotel and walk him over to the station. I guess
we'll push right on to New York to-night."

The officers nodded and smiled their admiration for the representative
of what is, perhaps, the best detective force in the world, and let him
pass.

Then Hefflefinger turned and spoke to Gallegher, who still stood as
watchful as a dog at his side. "I'm going to his room to get the bonds
and stuff," he whispered; "then I'll march him to the station and take
that train. I've done my share; don't forget yours!"

"Oh, you'll get your money right enough," said Gallegher. "And, sa-ay,"
he added, with the appreciative nod of an expert, "do you know, you did
it rather well."

Mr. Dwyer had been writing while the raid was settling down, as he had
been writing while waiting for the fight to begin. Now he walked over to
where the other correspondents stood in angry conclave.

The newspaper men had informed the officers who hemmed them in that they
represented the principal papers of the country, and were expostulating
vigorously with the captain, who had planned the raid, and who declared
they were under arrest.

"Don't be an ass, Scott," said Mr. Dwyer, who was too excited to be
polite or politic. "You know our being here isn't a matter of choice. We
came here on business, as you did, and you've no right to hold us."

"If we don't get our stuff on the wire at once," protested a New York
man, "we'll be too late for to-morrow's paper, and----"

Captain Scott said he did not care a profanely small amount for
to-morrow's paper, and that all he knew was that to the station-house
the newspaper men would go. There they would have a hearing, and if the
magistrate chose to let them off, that was the magistrate's bu