d forward.

But they had not counted on McTurpin. "Let her be," he screamed. A
pistol flashed. The officer went down at Rose's feet.

Instantly there was confusion. The room was filled with shuffling
Oriental figures. The lights went out. Powder-flashes leaped like
fireflies in the darkness. Through it all Lees could be heard profanely
giving orders.

Then, as swiftly, it was over. Somewhere a door closed. Lees leaped
forward just in time to hear an iron bar clang into place.

"Gone," he muttered, as his light searched vainly for the woman.

"Who's that on the bed?" asked Benito.

"The cursed opium-wreck, McTurpin," Lees replied impatiently. "I planted
him when I saw Dick go down." He bent above the wounded officer while
Benito relighted the lamps and examined curiously the body of his
ancient enemy. For McTurpin was dead. He had evidently tried to reach
the woman as he fell. His clawlike fingers clutched, in rigor mortis,
her abandoned robe. On the floor, where it had fallen from her bosom,
doubtless in the hasty flight, there lay a crumpled, bloodstained
envelope. Robert springing forward, seized it with an exclamation. It
was addressed to William C. Ralston.

CHAPTER LXIV

AN IDOL TOPPLES

News had come in early spring of Robert Windham senior's death in
Monterey; less than two months afterward his wife, Anita, lay beside him
in the Spanish cemetery.

The old Californians were passing; here and there some venerable Hidalgo
played the host upon broad acres as in ancient days and came to San
Francisco, booted, spurred, attended by a guard of vaqueros. But a new
generation gazed at him curiously and, after a lonely interval,
he departed.

Market street was now a lordly thoroughfare; horse-cars jingled merrily
along the leading streets. Up Clay street ran that wonder of the age, a
cable-tram invented by old Hallidie, the engineer. They had made game
of him for years until he demonstrated his invention for the conquering
of hills. Now the world was seeking him to solve its transportation
problems.

Ralston, as usual, was riding on the crest of fortune. His was a
veritable lust for city building. Each successive day he founded some
new enterprise.

"Like a master juggler," said Benito to his wife, "he keeps a hundred
interests in the air. Let's see. There are the Mission Woolen Mills, the
Kimball Carriage Works, the Cornell Watch Factory--of all things--the
West Coast Furniture plant, the San Francisc