tory. Some poor divvies he'll bully-rag into swearin' lies an'
others he'll buy. Trust Jerry for the crooked stuff."

"We've got to get the truth," said Beatrice crisply, pulling on her
gloves. "And we'll do it too. A pack of lies can't stand against four
of us all looking for the truth."

Annie looked curiously at this golden-haired girl with the fine rapture
of untamed youth, so delicate and yet so silken strong. By training
and tradition they were miles apart, yet the girl who had lived on the
edge of the underworld recognized a certain kinship. She liked the
thorough way this young woman threw herself into the business of the
day. The wireless telegraphy of the eyes, translated through the
medium of her own emotions, told her that no matter whose ring Beatrice
Whitford was wearing Clay Lindsay held her happiness in the cup of his
strong brown hand.

"You're shoutin', Miss." Annie rose briskly. "I'll get busy doin'
some sleuthin' myself. I liked your friend from the minute he stepped
through--from the minute I set me peepers on him. He's one man, if
anybody asks you. I'm soitainly for him till the clock strikes twelve.
And say, listen! Jerry's liable not to get away with it. I'm hep to
one thing. The gang's sore on him. He rides the boys too hard. Some
of 'em will sure t'row him down hard if they think they'll be
protected."

"The district attorney will stand by us," said Whitford. "He told me
himself Durand was a menace and that his days as boss were numbered.
Another thing, Miss Millikan. If you need to spend any money in a
legitimate way, I'm here to foot the bills."

Muldoon, who was on night duty this month and therefore had his days
free, guided Whitford and his daughter to Maddock's. As they reached
the house an express wagon was being driven away. Automatically the
license number registered itself in Tim's memory.

The policeman took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. The
three went up the stairs to the deserted gambling-hall and through it
to the rear room.

"From what Lindsay says the bullet holes ought to be about as high as
his arm pits," said Whitford.

"'Slim' must 'a' been standin' about here," guessed Muldoon,
illustrating his theory by taking the position he meant. "The bullets
would hit the partition close to the center, wouldn't they?"

Beatrice had gone straight to the plank wall. "They're not here," she
told them.

"Must be. According to Lindsay's s