t the hospital and questioned John.

"I've just talked with the mayor," Sweeney said. "He has told me enough
of what has happened to convince me that the 'Gink's' men did this. I'm
going out now to arrest Cummings on suspicion and hold him in jail until
we see how Murphy comes out. If he dies, I'll charge Cummings with
murder if it's the last thing I do on earth."

John noticed as Sweeney and the detectives hurried away that several of
them carried sawed-off shotguns.

A few minutes later they wheeled Murphy out of the operating room on a
carrier and placed him on a cot in one of the wards. John approached one
of the surgeons, swathed in sterilized clothes and apron.

"Will he live, doctor?" he asked in trepidation.

The surgeon answered without looking up from the rubber gloves he was
peeling from his hands.

"He has a chance," he said.

"Much of a chance?" John asked.

"Not much, I'm afraid," the surgeon said. "You see, he is weak from the
loss of blood and he is hurt internally. His ribs have punctured his
lungs. Only one in a hundred injured the way he is ever recovers. We'll
do everything we can now, but we're almost helpless."

He went to Murphy's bedside. The figure stretched flat on the bed was
motionless except for an almost indiscernible trembling of the covering
that showed Murphy was still breathing. The face of the unconscious
youth was hidden by bandages. A pungent odor of ether filled the room.
As John looked down on the bed, praying that the little flame of life
would not be extinguished by the cold breath of death, he became
conscious of the fact that someone else had entered and was standing
close behind him. Believing it to be a nurse he turned slowly to ask if
it was possible that Murphy might regain consciousness after the effects
of the anesthetic wore off. He found himself facing the mayor.

For fully a minute the mayor stood looking down at Murphy. Tears filled
his eyes and brimmed over his cheeks. He let them fall unheeded as he
lifted his eyes to John.

"Gallant," he said, "if you don't mind, I'm going to pray for the life
of this boy."

John bowed his head. He saw the mayor drop to his knees at the side of
the bed so that his forehead touched the covers.

"'Thy will be done,' oh, Father," he heard the mayor pray, "but we ask
Thee in Thy gentle mercy, to spare us the life of this boy. We ask Thee
to hold the life in his poor, battered body; to bring him back to us. We
ask it, oh