n of
the English police to the fact that he would be here to-night."

Cherry Bim, creeping up the stairs in his stockinged feet--he had
marked and shot the fuse-box to pieces before the police came in, and
had burst his way through the door in the wall--heard the sound of
voices in the little room and stopped to listen. It was not a thick
door, and he could hear Serganoff's voice very clearly. He stooped down
to the key-hole. Serganoff had not taken the key out, and it was an
old-fashioned key, the end of which projected an eighth of an inch on
the other side of the door. Cherry Bim felt in his pocket and produced a
pair of peculiarly shaped nippers, and gripped the end of the key,
turning it gently. Then he slipped his handy gun from his pocket and
waited.

"Now, Irene," said Serganoff's voice. "You must decide. In a few minutes
the police will be up here, for they are instructed to make a complete
search of the house. I can either explain that you are here to witness
the raid, or that I have followed you up and arrested you. Which is it
to be?"

Still she did not answer. Serganoff had laid his revolver on the table
and this she was manoeuvring to reach. He divined her intention before
she sprang forward, and, gripping her by the waist, threw her back.

"That will be more useful to me than to you," he said.

"Sure thing it will!" said a voice behind him.

He turned as swift as a cat and fired. The horrified girl heard only one
shot, so quickly did one report follow another. She saw Cherry Bim raise
his hand and wipe the blood from his cheek, saw the splinter of wood
where the bullet had struck behind him; then Serganoff groaned and
sprawled forward over the table. She dared not look at him, but followed
Bim's beckoning finger.

"Down the stairs and out of that door, miss," he said, "or the bulls
will have you."

She did not ask him who the "bulls" were; she could guess. She flew down
the stairs, with trembling hands unfastened the lock and stepped into
the street. It was empty, save for two men, and one of these came
forward to meet her with outstretched hands.

"Thank God you're safe!" he said. "You weren't there, were you?"

Malcolm Hay was incoherent. The detective who was with him could but
smile a little, for the girl had come out of the door which, according
to his instructions, led only to the private dining-room.

"Take me away," she whispered.

He put his arm about her trembling figure, and led