er table, standing behind a
screen of wire gauze, at the bottom of which was cut a small semicircle,
large enough for the protrusion of a white, tense hand, whose fingers
were even now spasmodically clenching in nervous indication of fury.
Behind either lamp was a heavy black screen, which effectually shut off
ingress to that portion of the room.

The man standing between the table and the closed door of the partition,
full in the light of the lamps, watched the hand as though fascinated.
He could see nothing else, for behind the gauze all was darkness.
Absolutely invisible, sat the possessor of the hand, observing the face
of his interviewer, on the brighter side of the gauze.

"So, there's no word from the Monk?"

"No, chief. De bloke's disappeared. Either he got so much swag offen dis
old Grimsby guy, after youse got de bumps, or he had cold feet and beat
it wid de machine."

"It's a crooked game on me." rasped the voice behind the screen. "I'll
send him up for this. You know how far my lines go out. What about Dutch
Jake and Ben the Bite?"

The man before the screen shook his head in helpless bewilderment There
was a suggestion of fright in his manner, as well.

"Can't find out a t'ing, gov'nor. I hopes you don't blame me for dis.
I'm doin' my share. Dey just disappears dat night w'en you sends 'em to
shadder Van Cleft's joint. My calcerlation is--"

"I'm not paying you to calculate. I've trusted you and lost six thousand
dollars' worth of automobiles for my pains. You can just calculate this,
that unless I get some news about Jake, Ben and the Monk by this time
tomorrow, I'll send some news down to Police headquarters on Lafayette
Street that will make you wish you had never been born."

For some reason not difficult to guess, the suggestion had a galvanic
effect on the bewildered one. His hands trembled as he raised them
imploringly to the screen.

"Oh, gov'nor, wot have I done? Ain't I been on de level wid yez? Say,
I ain't never even seen yez for de fourteen months I've been yer
gobetween. I've been beat up by de cops, pinched and sent to de
workhouse 'cause I wouldn't squeal, and now ye t'reatens me. Did I ever
fall down on a trick ontil dis week? You'se ain't goin' ter welch on me,
are you'se? I ain't no welcher meself, an' ye knows it."

The other snapped out curtly: "Very well, cut out the sob stuff. It's
up to you to prove that there hasn't been a leak somewhere or a double
cross. Send in those