n which the light from the big electrolier
was beaming, would shield him from their view. Warren called for some
brandy. Taylor served him, but it was three minutes or more before the
other could collect himself. Then he began furiously, as the pain in his
forehead diminished.

"This Shirley: he's a clever dog. He put something on my handkerchief,
and when I got that message of yours it got me, right in the taxicab, as
I was on my way to the Blue Goose to meet you."

"To meet me?" and Taylor's turn came to be startled. "I don't know why
you should meet me at the Blue Goose!"

"Say, didn't you send me this note in code?" demanded Warren, drawing
out the typewritten sheet. Taylor shook his head, with a blanched face.

The other looked at him with the first evidence of fear which Shirley
had ever seen on the confident face. Warren caught his assistant's hand,
and drew his face down toward the note.

"Look, it is in our code. Phil can read it but he is the only one beside
you. He is locked up in jail, and couldn't reach a typewriter. I got a
message from him this afternoon that he wouldn't squeal. You know how he
smuggled it out to me. Tell me how could any one know about the Monk and
write this so?"

Taylor shook his head, speechless. As he turned his face toward the
window Shirley observed the great drawn shadows under his squinting
eyes. The sudden shock was telling on that weasel face. Taylor walked
unsteadily toward the infernal machine, and he looked blankly toward
Warren again. The other's blazing orbs were full upon him now. There was
a frightful menace in their glittering depths as he spoke.

"Taylor, if I thought you had sold out I'd skin you alive right now!"

"Reg--Reg--you are my best friend. Don't say a thing like that."

"Are you selling me for some purpose. Are you soft on that chicken? Has
she blarneyed you into this?" demanded his chief, rising, unsteadily,
but fierce in his suspicious tensity.

Taylor cowered, with imploring hands stretched out.

"Why, Reg, no one ever did for me what you've done. I'd die rather than
sell you out, and there ain't a dame in the world that could make me
soft on a real game like this."

As Warren studied his white face there came a tinkle on the telephone.

"What's that? Who's that?" Warren turned and ran toward the instrument,
still studying the face of his companion. It was evident that a seed of
distrust was planted in his bosom. He answered nervously.

"Y