k of red
hair and a thick hanging lip,--obviously this one of his assailants
possessed immense, unusual strength. In appearance he was the reverse of
pleasing; his bloodshot eyes seemed to shine like coals from the
darkness, the huge body to quiver with rage or with lust for the
conflict.

"Let me at him, ye--!" he cried in foul and flash tongue, when John
Steele suddenly called him by name, said something in that selfsame
dialect of pickpurses and their ilk.

Whatever the words or their portent, the effect was startling. Steele's
bulky assailant paused, remained stock-still, his purpose arrested, all
his anger gone out of him.

"How the--? Who--?" the man began.

"Call off your fellows!" John Steele's voice seemed to thrill; a fierce
elation shone from his glance. "I want to talk with you. It'll be more
worth your while than any prigging or bagging you've ever yet done."

"Well, I'm blowed!" The man's tone was puzzled; surprise, suspicion
gleamed from the bloodshot eyes. "How should a swell gent like you
know--? And you want to talk with me? Here's a gamey cove!"

"I tell you I must talk with you! And it will be better for you, my
man--" a sharp metallic click told that the speaker had turned the key
in the lock behind him--"to step in here with me. You needn't be afraid
I'm going to nab you; I've got a lay better than hooking you for the
dock. As for the others, they can go, for all of me."

"Oh, they can!" The big man's face expressed varying feelings--vague
wonder; at the same time he began to edge cautiously away. "That would
be a nice plant, wouldn't it? Let's out of this, blokies!" suddenly,
"this cove knows too much, and--"

"Wait!" Steele stepped slightly toward him. "I want you, Tom Rogers, and
I'm going to have you; it'll be quids in your pocket and not Newgate."

"Slope for it, mates!" The big man's voice rang out; around the corner
in the direction of the Thames the burly figure of a policeman appeared
in the dim light. "That's his little game!" and turned.

But John Steele sprang savagely forward. "You fool! You'll not get away
so easily!" he exclaimed, when one of the others put out a foot. It
caught the pursuing man fairly and tripped him. John Steele went down
hard; his head struck the stone curb violently.

For some moments he lay still; when at length he did move, to lift
himself on his elbow, as through a mist he made out the broad and
solicitous face of a policeman bending over him.