t in the state will sustain a
policeman who shoots a white-slaver"

The deep tones of the stranger's voice filled Mary with a thrill of
loathing

Father and daughter were frantic with grief

The pretended philanthropist was cornered at last

TRAFFIC IN SOULS

CHAPTER I

NIGHT COURT

Officer 4434 beat his freezing hands together as he stood with his back
to the snow-laden north-easter, which rattled the creaking signboards
of East Twelfth Street, and covered, with its merciful shroud of wet
flakes, the ash-barrels, dingy stoops, gaudy saloon porticos and other
architectural beauties of the Avenue corner.

Officer 4434 was on "fixed post."

This is an institution of the New York police department which makes it
possible for citizens to locate, in time of need, a representative of
the law. At certain street crossings throughout the boroughs bluecoats
are assigned to guard-duty during the night, where they can keep close
watch on the neighboring thoroughfares. The "fixed post" increases the
efficiency of the service, but it is a bitter ordeal on the men.

Officer 4434 shivered under his great coat. He pulled the storm hood
of his cap closer about his neck as he muttered an opinion, far from
being as cold as the biting blast, concerning the Commissioner who had
installed the system. He had been on duty over an hour, and even his
sturdy young physique was beginning to feel the strain of the Arctic
temperature.

"I wonder when Maguire is coming to relieve me?" muttered 4434, when
suddenly his mind left the subject, as his keen vision descried two
struggling figures a few yards down the dark side of Twelfth Street.

There was no outcry for help. But 4434 knew his precinct too well to
wait for that. He quietly walked to the left corner and down toward
the couple. As he neared them the mist of the eddying snowflakes
became less dense; he could discern a short man twisting the arm of a
tall woman, who seemed to be top heavy from an enormous black-plumed
hat. The faces of the twain were still indistinct. The man whirled
the woman about roughly. She uttered a subdued moan of pain, and 4434,
as he softly approached them, his footfalls muffled by the blanket of
white, could hear her pleading in a low tone with the man.

"Aw, kid, I ain't got none ... I swear I ain't... Oh, oh ... ye know I
wouldn't lie to ye, kid!"

"Nix, Annie. Out wid it, er I'll bust yer damn arm!"

"Jimmie, I ain't raised a