t, think I did. That's all. Nothing more, I assure you. I--I have
to be a sober man in my work."

"You got to make an exception this evening," said Ronicky, more
fiercely than ever. "I ought to make you drink all three drinks for
being so slow about drinking one!"

"Three drinks!" exclaimed the fat man, trembling violently. "It--it
would kill me!"

"I think it would," said Ronicky. "I swear I think it would. And maybe
even one will be a sort of a shock, eh?"

He commanded suddenly: "Drink! Drink that glass and clean out the last
drop of it, or we'll tie you and pry your mouth open and pour the
whole bottle down your throat. You understand?"

A feeble moan came from the throat of the hotel keeper. He cast
one frantic glance toward the door and a still more frantic appeal
centered on Ronicky Doone, but the face of the latter was as cold as
stone.

"Then take your own glasses, boys," he said, striving to smile, as he
picked up his own drink.

"You drink first, and you drink alone," declared Ronicky. "Now!"

The movement of his hand was as ominous as if he had whipped out a
revolver. The fat man tossed off the glass of whisky and then stood
with a pudgy hand pressed against his breast and the upward glance of
one who awaits a calamity. Under the astonished eyes of Bill Gregg he
turned pale, a sickly greenish pallor. His eyes rolled, and his hand
on the table shook, and the arm that supported him sagged.

"Open the window," he said. "The air--there ain't no air. I'm
choking--and--"

"Get him some water," cried Bill Gregg, "while I open the window."

"Stay where you are, Bill."

"But he looks like he's dying!"

"Then he's killed himself."

"Gents," began the fat man feebly and made a short step toward them.
The step was uncompleted. In the middle of it he wavered, put out his
arms and slumped upon his side on the floor.

Bill Gregg cried out softly in astonishment and horror, but Ronicky
Doone knelt calmly beside the fallen bulk and felt the beating of his
heart.

"He ain't dead," he said quietly, "but he'll be tolerably sick for a
while. Now come along with me."

"But what's all this mean?" asked Bill Gregg in a whisper, as he
picked up his suit case and hurried after Ronicky.

"Doped booze," said Ronicky curtly.

They hurried down the stairs and came out onto the dark street. There
Ronicky Doone dropped his suit case and dived into a dark nook beside
the entrance. There was a brief struggle. He cam