The girl suddenly burst into a storm of sobs, and, turning, reeled
back into the inner room.

"You see!" the bartender observed, confidentially, as the door swung
shut behind her. "She thinks he's gone off with another skirt; that's
the way with women! I knew Pad had given him the office, though. I got
it straight. You're right about Pad bein' up in the air. He must have
bitten off more than he can chew, this time. I heard Reddy Thursby
talkin' to Gil Hennessey about it, right where you're standin', not
two hours ago. They're both Pad's men--met 'em yet?"

Morrow shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, and the
loquacious bartender went on.

"It was Reddy brought the word for Charley to skip, and he dropped
somethin' about a raid on some plant up in the Bronx. Know anything
about it?"

For a moment the rows of bottles on their shelves seemed to reel
before Morrow's eyes, and his heart stood still, but he forced himself
to reply:

"Oh, that? I know all about it, of course. Wasn't I in on the ground
floor? But that's only a fake steer; this Charley-boy hasn't got
anything to do with it, that I know of. Maybe the big guy thought he
hadn't got out of the way, and sent me to find out. No use my hanging
round here any longer, anyhow. I'll amble back and tell Pad he's gone.
Swell dame, that Annie--some queen, eh? Let's have one more drink and
I'll blow!"

With assurances of an early return, Morrow contrived to beat a retreat
without arousing the suspicions of the bartender, but he went out into
the pale, wintry, sunlight with his brain awhirl. To his apprehensive
mind a raid on a plant in the Bronx could mean only one place--the
little map-making shop of Jimmy Brunell. Something had happened in his
absence; some one had betrayed the old forger. And Emily--what of
her?

Morrow sped as fast as elevated and subway could carry him to the
Bronx. Anxious as he was about the girl he loved, he did not go
directly to the house on Meadow Lane, but made a detour to the little
shop a few blocks away.

Morrow's instinct had not misled him. Before he had approached within
a hundred feet of the shop he knew that his fears had been justified.

The door swung idly open on its hinges, and the single window gave
forth a vacant stare. Within everything was in the wildest disorder.
The table which served as a counter, the racks of maps, the high
stool, the printing apparatus, all were overturned. The trap door
leading into t