face.

As he said it, Dennis broke through the crowd and made for Marchand.
Stooping over, he looked into Marchand's face.

"Hell and damnation--you!" he growled. "I risked my life to save you!"

With a sudden access of rage his hand suddenly went to his hip-pocket,
but another hand was quicker. It was that of Fleda Druse.

"No--no," she said, her fingers on his wrist. "You have had your
revenge. For the rest of his life he will have to bear his punishment
--that you have saved him. Leave him alone. It was to be. It is fate."

Dennis Doane was not a man of great thinking capacity. If he got a
matter into his head it stayed there till it was dislodged, and
dislodging was a real business with him.

"If you want her to live with you again, you had better let this be as it
is," whispered Fleda, for the crowd were surging round and cheering the
new hero. "Just escaped the roof falling in," said one.

"Got the strength of two, for a drunk man weighs twice as heavy as a
sober one!" exclaimed another admiringly.

"Marchand's game is up on the Sagalac," declared a third decisively.

The excitement was so great, however, that only a very few of them knew
what they were saying, and fewer still knew that Dennis Doane had risked
his life to save the man he had been stalking for weeks past. Marchand