t three red stripes across the
murderer's white cheek.

Before Braceway could interfere, Bristow checked his impulse to strike
back and gave Fulton a long, level look.

"You're welcome to it," he said finally; "welcome, old man. I guess I
still owe you something, at that."

"Put the cuffs on him," ordered Greenleaf.

"First, though, I'd like to have a clean collar, some clean linen; and I
want to get rid of this brace," Bristow interrupted.

"To hell with what you want!" Greenleaf cried, a shade more purple with
rage.

Bristow turned to Braceway:

"You're right. The stuff's in the sole of this shoe."

"Let's take charge of that now," Braceway said to the chief. They each
grasped one of the prisoner's arms and hustled him with scant ceremony
to his bedroom. Bristow removed his trousers and, unbuckling the belt and
straps of the steel brace, took off the thick-soled shoe.

Greenleaf put his hand into it and tugged at the inner sole.

"Opens on the outside," prompted Braceway, "underneath, near the instep."

The chief, after fumbling with it a moment, got it open. The jewels
streamed to the floor, a little cascade of radiance and colour. He picked
them up, getting down on all-fours so as not to miss one.

"Don't be unreasonable," Bristow complained as he slipped on another
shoe. "Let me have a clean shirt and collar."

"Be quick about it," Braceway consented, his voice heavy with contempt.

Greenleaf, holding him again by one arm, shoved him toward the bureau. He
got out of his shirt, Greenleaf shifting his grasp so as not to let go of
him for a second. In trying to put the front collar button into the fresh
shirt, he broke off its head.

"Come on," growled the chief. "You don't need a collar anyway."

"Not so fast! I've more than one collar button."

He put his hand into a tray and picked up another. It had a long shank
and was easily manipulated because of the catch that permitted the
movement of its head, as if on a hinge.

"This is better," he said, fingering it, unhurried as a man with hours to
throw away.

"Get a move on! Get a move!" Greenleaf growled again, tightening his hold
until it was painful.

Bristow, apparently bent on throwing off this rough grasp on his left
arm, swiftly raised his right hand with the button to his mouth.

For the fraction of a second his eyes, bright and defiant, met
Braceway's. The detective, reading the elation in them, shouted:

"Look out!"

There was a cl