prime agent. Clancy fired and
missed. Then he strove to close with Jennings. The latter hammered
him over the head with the butt of his revolver. Shouts and oaths came
from the infuriated thieves, but the police fought like bulldogs, with
tenacious courage, silent and grim.

"Hold them--hold them!" cried Jennings, as he went down.

"I'll do for you this time," said Hale between his teeth, and flung
himself forward, but Jennings struggled valiantly. The coiner was over
him, and trying to get at his revolver which had fallen in the fight.
Jennings waited till he stretched, then fired upward. Hale gave a yell
of agony, and throwing up his arms, fell on one side. Wounded, and in
great pain, Jennings rose. He had just time to see Clancy in the grip
of two policemen, fighting desperately, when his senses left him and he
fainted. The shouts and oaths and shots rang out wildly and confusedly
as he lost consciousness.

CHAPTER XXIII

A SCAMP'S HISTORY

When Jennings came to himself he was lying on a sofa in the dining-room
on the ground-floor of the villa. His shoulder hurt him a trifle, but
otherwise he felt well, though slightly weak. The doctor was at his
side. It was the same man who had attended to the body of the late
occupant of the house.

"Are you feeling better?" said Doctor Slane, when he saw the eyes of
the detective open. "You had better remain here for a time. Your men
have secured the rascals--all five of them."

"And Twining?" asked Jennings, trying to sit up.

"He is dead--shot through the heart. Clancy killed him."

"Then he'll swing for it," said Jennings in a stronger tone, "we lose a
good man in poor Twining. And Hale?"

"You have wounded him severely in the lungs. I fear he will die. We
have put him in Mrs. Barnes' room on her bed. The poor woman is wild
with grief and terror. I suppose you know her husband was amongst
those rascals."

"I thought as much. His going out was merely a blind. But I must get
up and look at the factory. Send Atkins to me."

Atkins was the man next in command now that the inspector was dead.

The doctor tried to keep Jennings on his back, but the detective would
not listen. "There is much to do," he said, rising unsteadily. "You
have bound up my shoulder. I won't lose any more blood."

"You have lost a good deal already."

"It's my business. We detectives have our battles to fight as well as
soldiers have theirs. Give me some b