"Hurry! The chief, I tell you!"

He snapped out the light and turned resolutely to the door. He felt
his faithful Colt, and the feel of the butt was like the touch of a
friendly hand before he opened the door.

She was dressed in white and made a glimmering figure in the darkness
of the hall, and her hair glimmered, also, almost as if it possessed
a light and a life of its own. Ronicky Doone saw that she was a very
pretty girl, indeed. Yes, it must be Caroline Smith. The very perfume
of young girlhood breathed from her, and very sharply and suddenly he
wondered why he should be here to fight the battle of Bill Gregg in
this matter--Bill Gregg who slept peacefully and stupidly in the room
across the street!

She had turned away, giving him only a side glance, as he came out.
"I don't know what's on, something big. The chief's going to give you
your big chance--with me."

Ronicky Doone grunted.

"Don't do that," exclaimed the girl impatiently. "I know you think
Pete is the top of the world, but that doesn't mean that you can make
a good imitation of him. Don't do it, Harry. You'll pass by yourself.
You don't need a make-up, and not Pete's on a bet."

They reached the head of the stairs, and Ronicky Doone paused. To go
down was to face the mysterious chief whom he had no doubt was the old
man to whom Harry Morgan had already referred. In the meantime the
conviction grew that this was indeed Caroline Smith. Her free-and-easy