s leading up to it. Every car that
passes is being scrutinized, its plate numbers taken, and forwarded to
the Motor Bureau. There's no chance of even an attempt at
rescue--literally none."

"He's insane," said the Superintendent, with conviction, and the words
filled him with new confidence. It had been less Von Kettler's
statements than the man's cool confidence and arrogant superiority
that had made him doubt. "But he's not too insane to have known what
he was doing. He'll hang."

"He certainly will," replied Anstruther. "He's just a big bluff, sir."

"Have him searched rigorously again to-morrow morning, and his cell
too--every inch of it, Anstruther. And don't relax an iota of your
precautions. I'll be glad when it's all over."

He proceeded to hold a long-distance conversation with Washington over
a special wire.

* * * * *

In his cell, Von Kettler could be seen reading a book. It was
Nietzsche's "Thus Spake Zarathusta," that compendium of aristocratic
insolence that once took the world by storm, until the author's
mentality was revealed by his commitment to a mad-house. Von Kettler
read till midnight, closely observed by the guard at the trap, then
laid the word aside with a yawn, lay down on his cot, and appeared to
fall instantly asleep.

Dawn broke. Von Kettler rose, breakfasted, smoked the perfecto that
came with his ham and eggs, resumed his book. At ten o'clock Bull
Anstruther came with a guard and stripped him to the skin, examining
every inch of his prison garments. The bedding followed; the cell was
gone over microscopically. Von Kettler, permitted to dress again,
smiled ironically. That smile stirred Anstruther's gall.

"We know you're just a big bluff, Von Kettler," snarled the big man.
"Don't think you've got us going. We're just taking the usual
precautions, that's all."

"So unnecessary," smiled Von Kettler. "To-night I shall dine at the
Ambassador grill. Watch for me there. I'll leave a memento."

Anstruther went out, choking. Early in the afternoon two guards came
for Von Kettler.

"Your sister's come to say good-by to you," he was told, as he was
taken to the visitors' cell.

This was a large and fairly comfortable cell in a corridor leading off
the death house, designed to impress visitors with the belief that it
was the condemned man's permanent abode; and, by a sort of convention,
it was understood that prisoners were not to disabuse their visitor