THE UPRIGHT"

Up to the moment when he heard the report of Druce's pistol and saw
Carter Anson fall, Harry Boland's whole being had been concentrated in a
consuming horror at sight of Patience Welcome in the Cafe Sinister.

The crack of the pistol restored his composure. He saw clearly the infamy
of the plot against her,--and against himself. One of the conspirators
was already dead on the scene of this last of many crimes. Druce was
struggling with the police, taking him for murder of Anson, his partner.

John Boland, the third conspirator, faced his son in a desperate
composure.

"Come, Harry, we must get out of here. It will never do to be seen
here--"

"For you!" Harry shook off his father's hand upon his arm. "Go, by all
means! I shall take care of myself." He walked towards the singers'
platform beyond the seething crowd.

John Boland believed of himself afterwards that he would have followed
Harry, but at the moment he saw a bowed and gray-haired woman before him,
great fear and horror on her face, pressing her way in from scrubbing in
the booths beyond. The mop and bucket with which she had been working
were in either hand. At sight of his face she dropped her tools of toil
and clutched his coat. It was Tom Welcome's widow.

He uttered a cry like a beast of prey as he shook her off; but he felt
himself shiver, conscience making him a coward, and he hurried out,
reaching by an exit the alley leading to a side street.

A police lieutenant suddenly barred his way.

"Not so fast there," said the functionary.

Boland recognized the man as an officer whom he had once placed under
obligation to him.

"Good evening, Murphy."

"Mr. Boland!"

"Yes. I was passing and heard the shot. You understand, of course, that I
wish to avoid being seen here. Do you know where I can find a taxi?"

The policeman turned and summoned a taxicab with a gesture. Boland got in
at the open door. He leaned forward and spoke with peculiar force,
although very low:

"If my son, Harry Boland, happens to pass by here, see that he gets into
a taxi whose driver will bring him to my house, to my house, remember, no
matter what address he gives."

"I understand, sir." Probably the young man's been misbehaving, was what
he thought.

"Pay the driver--in advance--with this, or part of it," continued Mr.
Boland.

"Thank you, sir; thank you. I understand."

Boland's car scuttled away into the darkness.

Harry Boland, pushing th