them to an automobile parked in front of the office building. A
liveried chauffeur sat at the wheel. John saw it was the machine that
Consuello had said had been placed at her disposal by "a friend." He
wondered why she never explained to him that it was Gibson's car. Gibson
took the seat beside the chauffeur, while John, Brennan and Benton took
the tonneau seats. The machine whirled away from the curb.

"Any questions?" asked Gibson over his shoulder.

"You've told us everything we need to know now," replied Brennan.

As Gibson turned back to face the road before them John glanced toward
Brennan interrogatively. Brennan shook his head doubtfully as if he was
puzzled by this new move by the commissioner.

"I can't figure it out--yet," he whispered.

In twenty minutes, at Gibson's order, the chauffeur stopped the
automobile at a corner in West Eleventh street.

"We'll stop here and walk the rest of the way, it's only half a block,"
explained the commissioner. "To drive up to the house would give them
warning."

"Big Jim's" house was in the middle of the block. It was square, of two
stories and set well back from the street. The blinds were down in all
of the windows and it had a deserted appearance. Out of range of sight
from any of the windows Gibson met a group of deputy sheriffs and his
private detectives, one of whom stepped forward to address him.

"He's in there, all right," the detective said. "We trailed him in last
night and he hasn't put his nose out of doors since. What are your
orders, Mr. Commissioner?"

"Who has the search warrant?" Gibson asked.

"I have it," replied one of the deputy sheriffs. "I figured we might
have to go in after him."

"Is the back of the house guarded?" Gibson demanded.

"Four men are there and four others posted at the sides," he was told.

"Good! Let's go then; I'll lead the way," said Gibson.

He strode quickly toward the house and up the walk to the front door,
followed by the detectives, the deputies, Brennan, John and the camera
man. John had a peculiar sinking feeling as he realized what open
targets they were as they approached the house if "Big Jim" opened fire
on them from behind the blind of one of the windows facing the street.

Gibson rapped sharply on the door and they waited tensely for a
response. The officers' right hands were on the handles of their
automatics and revolvers. There was no response to Gibson's rap. He
clenched his fist and hammered lo