had looked round
once to find out what it was prodding him. That was enough to convince
him he had better stop.

Under the brake the back wheels skidded and brought up against the
curb. Clay, hanging on by one hand, was flung hard to the sidewalk.
The cab teetered, regained its equilibrium, gathered impetus with a
snort, and leaped forward again.

As the cattleman clambered to his feet he caught one full view of the
chauffeur's triumphant, vindictive face. He had seen it before, at a
reception especially arranged for him by Jerry Durand one memorable
night. It belonged to the more talkative of the two gunmen he had
surprised at the pretended poker game. He knew, too, without being
told that this man and "Slim" Jim Collins were one and the same. The
memory of Annie's stricken face carried this conviction home to him.

The Arizonan picked up his revolver in time to see the car sweep around
the next corner and laughed ruefully at his own discomfiture. He
pushed a hand through the crisp, reddish waves of his hair.

"I don't reckon I'll ride in that taxi any farther. Johnnie will have
to settle the bill. Hope he plays his hand better than I did," he said
aloud.

The rain pelted down as he moved toward the brighter lighted street
that intersected the one where he had been dropped. The lights of a
saloon caught his eye at the corner. He went in, got police
headquarters on the wire, and learned that a car answering the
description of the one used by his abductor had been headed into
Central Park by officers and that the downtown exits were being watched.

He drew what comfort he could from that fact.

Presently he picked up another taxi. He hesitated whether to go to the
address Annie had given him or to join the chase uptown. Reluctantly,
he decided to visit the house. His personal inclination was for the
hunt rather than for inactive waiting, but he sacrificed any immediate
chance of adventure for the sake of covering the possible rendezvous of
the gang.

Clay paid his driver and looked at the house numbers as he moved up the
street he wanted. He was in that part of the city from which business
years ago marched up-town. Sometime in decades past people of means
had lived behind these brownstone fronts. Many of the residences were
used to keep lodgers in. Others were employed for less reputable
purposes.

His overcoat buttoned to his neck, Clay walked without hesitation up
the steps of the one num