"Don't be a fool, Karl!" the woman called out. "The game's up. Take it
quietly."

Once more the shriek rang through the house. Quest rushed to the door of
the room from whence it came, tried the handle and found it locked. He ran
back a little way and charged it. From inside he could hear a turmoil of
voices. White with rage and passion, he pushed and kicked madly. There was
the sound of a shot from inside, a bullet came through the door within an
inch of his head, then the crash of broken crockery and a man's groan.
With a final effort Quest dashed the door in and staggered into the room.
Lenora was standing in the far corner, the front of her dress torn and
blood upon her lip. She held a revolver in her hand and was covering a man
whose head and hands were bleeding. Around him were the debris of a broken
jug.

"Mr. Quest!" she screamed. "Don't go near him--I've got him covered. I'm
all right."

Quest drew a long breath. The man who stood glaring at him was
well-dressed and still young. He was unarmed, however, and Quest secured
him in a moment.

"The girl's mad!" he said sullenly. "No one wanted to do her any harm."

Hardaway and his men came trooping up the stairs. Quest relinquished his
prisoner and went over to Lenora.

"I've been so frightened," she sobbed. "They got me in here--they told me
that this was the street in which my aunt lived--and they wouldn't let me