"Keep your hands off. Don't you say you killed him. What right have
_you_ to take his life, I'd like to know! Don't let me hear you say that
again--don't you dare! Just remember that killing him is _my_ business.
You sha'n't try to rob me--it's my right!" She leaned forward
threateningly.

A hand closed over her wrist. The woman screamed.

"Hold on, Mother, none of that." The young man, still retaining his
hold, came from behind the seat and stood over her.

She began to whimper and tremble. "Don't hit me," she begged pitifully.
"Don't hit me, and I'll be good, indeed, I will."

Mrs. Marteen had taken no notice of her providential protector. Her head
was sunk upon her breast and her hands hung limp in her lap.

The young man whistled twice, never relaxing his hold. A moment later a
form detached itself from the group before the door of the house
opposite, crossed the street and joined them quickly, yet with no
impression of hurry.

"What's up?" the newcomer asked quietly.

"Here, take hold. Don't let her get away from you." With a glance round,
he took a hypodermic needle from hi» pocket, and a quick prick in the
wrist instantly quieted the struggling, captive. "Get a cab," he
ordered, "and bring her over to my rooms. The utmost importance--not a
sound to anybody. I've got my job cut out for me--no police in this,
mind."