ent. "The cops are after me.
Some one must have tipped them off. If it was you I'll get to know and
even things up, P. D. Q. Chew on that during the night's festivities, I
advise you. Brought that wad?"

Tower was the last man breathing to handle this queer situation
discreetly. He ought to have temporized, but he loathed anything in the
nature of vulgar or criminal intrigue. Being quick-tempered withal, if
deliberately insulted, he resented this fellow's crude speech.

"No," he cried hotly. "What you really want is a policeman, and there's
one close at hand--Hi! Officer!" he shouted: "Come here at once. There
are two rascals in a boat--"

Something swirled through the darkness, and his next word was choked in
a cry of mortal fear, for a lasso had fallen on his shoulders and was
drawn taut. Before he could as much as lift his hands he was dragged
bodily over the railing and headlong into the river.

Clancy, forced by circumstances to remain at a distance, could only
overhear Tower's share in the brief conversation. The tones in the voice
perplexed him, but the preconcerted element in the affair seemed to
offer proof positive that Senator Meiklejohn had kept his appointment.
He was just in time to see Tower's legs disappearing, and a loud splash
told what had happened. He was not armed. He never carried a revolver
unless the quest of the hour threatened danger or called for a display
of force. In a word, he was utterly powerless.

Senator Meiklejohn, alive to the vital fact that some one on the terrace
had discovered the boat, hung back dismayed. He was joined by Nolan, who
could not understand the sudden commotion.

"What's up?" Nolan asked. "Didn't some wan shout?"

Clancy, in all his experience of crime and criminals, had never before
encountered such an amazing combination of unforeseen conditions. The
boat's motor was already chugging breathlessly, and the small craft was
curving out into the gloom. He saw a man hauling in a rope from the
stern, and well did he know why the cord seemed to be attached to a
heavy weight. Not far away he made out the yacht's gig returning to the
stage.

"_Sans Souci_ ahoy!" he almost screamed. "Head off that launch!
There's murder done!"

It was a hopeless effort, of course, though the sailors obeyed
instantly, and bent to their oars. Soon they, too, vanished in the murk,
but, finding they were completely outpaced, came back seeking for
instructions which could not be given.