Durand
sourly.

The gorge of the Arizonan rose. "Mebbeso. You're a dirty dog, Jerry
Durand. From the beginning you were a rotten fighter--in the ring and
out of it. You and yore strong-arm men! Do you think I'm afraid of
you because you surround yoreself with dips and yeggmen and hop-nuts,
all scum of the gutter and filth of the earth? Where I come from men
fight clean and out in the open. They'd stomp you out like a
rattlesnake."

Clay moved back to the door and looked around from one to another, a
scorching contempt in his eyes. "Rats--that's what you are, vermin
that feed on offal. You haven't got an honest fight in you. All you
can do is skulk behind cover to take a man when he ain't lookin'."

He whipped open the door, stepped out, closed it, and took the key from
his pocket. A moment, and he had turned the lock.

From within there came a rush that shook the panels. Clay was already
busy searching for Kitty. He tore open door after door, calling her
loudly by name. Even in the darkness he could see that the rooms were
empty of furniture.

There was a crash of splintering panels, the sound of a bursting lock.
Almost as though it were an echo of it came a heavy pounding upon the
street door. Clay guessed that the thirty minutes were up and that the
Runt was bringing the police. He dived back into one of the empty
rooms just in time to miss a rush of men pouring along the passage to
the stairs.

Cut off from the street, Clay took to the roof again. It would not do
for him to be caught in the house by the police. He climbed the
ladder, pushed his way through the trapdoor opening, and breathed
deeply of the night air.

But he had no time to lose. Already he could hear the trampling of
feet up the stairs to the second story.

Lightly he vaulted the wall and came to the roof door leading down to
number 123. He found it latched.

The eaves of the roof projected so far that he could not from there get
a hold on the window casings below. He made a vain circuit of the
roof, then passed to the next house.

Again he was out of luck. The tenants had made safe the entrance
against prowlers of the night. He knew that at any moment now the
police might appear in pursuit of him. There was no time to lose.

He crossed to the last house in the block--and found himself barred
out. As he rose from his knees he heard the voices of men clambering
through the scuttle to the roof. At the same time h