to de Muggins gang. I'll fix youse guys fer buttin' in. Up,
dere!" His hands went into his coat pockets, but the men knew
that they were still pointing at them, the gunman's "cover" as it
is called. They staggered sullenly to their feet. He beckoned
with his head, toward the front of the lot. They followed the
silent instructions, one limping while his mate wrung the injured
wrist in agony.

Directly before the lot stood a throbbing, empty automobile.
Shirley decided to take another car--he could not guard them and
drive at the same time.

"Down to Fift' Avnoo," he ordered. "I got two guns--not a woid
from youse!" His erstwhile amiable physiognomy, now gnarled into
an unrecognizable mask of low villainy bespoke his desperate
earnestness. The men obeyed. This was apparently a gangster, of
gangsters--their fear of the dire vengeance of a rival
organization of cut-throats instilled an obedience more humble
than any other threats.

Toward the Park side they advance, one leaning heavily upon the
other. Shirley, his broad shoulders hunched up; with the collar
drawn high about his neck, the murderous looking cap down over
his eyes, followed them doggedly.

A big limousine was speeding down the Avenue from some homing
theater party. Shirley hailed it with an authoritive yell which
caused the chauffeur to put on a quick brake.

"Git out dere,--no gun play. Up inter dat car!" he added, as