nd differentiates them from the loudly acclaimed episodes of the
stage, a third actor took up his cue.

"Both hands, Mr. Cavanagh!" directed an American voice.

Nerves atwitch, I started around in its direction.

From behind the slightly opened door of No. 48 protruded a steel
barrel, pointed accurately at my head!

I hesitated, glancing from the woman toward the open door.

"Do it quick!" continued the voice incisively. "You are up against
a desperate man, Mr. Cavanagh. Raise your hands. Carneta, relieve
Mr. Cavanagh of his gun!"

Instantly the girl, with deft fingers, had obtained possession of
my revolver.

"Step inside," said the crisp, strident voice. Knowing myself
helpless and quite convinced that I was indeed in the clutches of
desperate people, I entered the doorway, the door being held open
from within. She whom I had heard called Carneta followed. The
door was reclosed; and I found myself in a perfectly bare and dim
passageway. From behind me came the order--

"Go right ahead!"

Into a practically unfurnished room, lighted by one gas jet, I
walked. Some coarse matting hung before the two windows and a
fairly large grip stood on the floor against one wall. A gas-ring
was in the hearth, together with a few cheap cooking utensils.

I turned and faced the door. First entered Carneta, carrying the
basket; then came a man with a revolver in his left hand and his
right arm strapped across his chest and swathed in bandages. One
glance revealed the fact that his right hand had been severed--revealed
the fact, though I knew it already, that my captor was Earl Dexter.

He looked even leaner than when I had last seen him. I had no doubt
that his ghastly wound had occasioned a tremendous loss of blood.
His gaunt face was positively emaciated, but the steely gray eyes
had lost nothing of their brightness. There was a good deal about
Mr. Earl Dexter, the cracksman, that any man must have admired.

"Shut the door, Carneta," he said quietly. His companion closed
the door and Dexter sat down on the grip, regarding me with his
oddly humorous smile.

"You're a visitor I did not expect, Mr. Cavanagh," he said. "I
expected someone worse. You've interfered a bit with my plans but
I don't know that I can't rearrange things satisfactorily. I don't
think I'll stop for supper, though--" He glanced at the girl, who
stood silent by the door.

"Just pack up the provisions," he directed, nodding toward