sk, worn always to hide a horror.

The inspector's tapping quickened to an expression of anger. His voice
exposed a cherished resentment.

"No doubt about your having heard of our friend Hennion?"

Garth started forward, resting his closed fists on the desk top. His
face was excited, unbelieving.

"Mean to say there's a chance--"

The inspector ceased his tapping. He looked up slyly.

"A real one at last. You know what that means. It's the job. Take it or
leave it. I won't ask you to go where I mightn't have cared to go myself
at your age."

Garth thought rapidly. His chief had been right. The man who tried to
trip Hennion needn't worry about to-morrow's breakfast until his eyes
greeted the sun in the east.

He, with the rest of the bureau, could point to half a dozen men as
vassals of this almost mythical figure. He, like the rest, had
frequently diagnosed obscure crimes as the workmanship of the Hennion
group. But he knew also that nothing had ever been proved against this
organization of criminals, which was unique, because, in addition to
prosaic brutality, it appeared to be informed by brains of a brilliant
and inscrutable character.

"How much of a chance?" Garth asked.

All the drowsiness left the inspector's eyes.

"Maybe to sit in with them to-night. I've never had a ghost of a show
with a stool before, and this is the night of all nights. One of these
crooks has been boasting. He said--and I have it straight--'To-night we
play our ace.' Get that, Garth! What must an ace mean to that lot, eh?
And the president's here, but he'll be well looked after. Still there
are lots of big men in this town whose sudden death would make a noise
more like a home-run than a funeral. Or, if it's burglary, play it to
scale. These fellows would unlock the gates of Hades while Satan slept
in the vestibule. I've been saying to myself all day I've got to find
out what that ace is and stack the cards, and at the same time I've been
asking myself what the devil I was going to do about it. But the luck's
changed."

Garth breathed hard.

"How do you expect to throw sand in the eyes of that outfit?"

"Give me," the inspector answered slowly, his rumble approximating a
whisper, "someone with no nerves to speak of and a build like this
faceless man Simmons."

He looked up. His eyes were very sleepy again.

"You have that build, Garth. All you need is a plain, dark brown suit."

He raised the telegram.

"This is Simm