n your
pocket at this minute. A package no bigger than a man's hand."

The stranger made no reply, but looked quickly about, over his shoulder
at the path along which he had come, and then past Mr. Magee at the road
that led to freedom.

"I think it's in your pocket," repeated Mr. Magee, "and I'm going to
find out."

"I haven't time to argue with you," said the holder of the seventh key.
His voice was cold, calculating, harsh. "Get out of my way and let me
pass. Or--"

"Or what?" asked Billy Magee.

He watched the man lunge toward him in the moonlight. He saw the fist
that had the night before been the Waterloo of Mr. Max and the mayor
start on a swift true course for his head. Quickly he dodged to one side
and closed with his opponent.

Back and forth through the snow they ploughed, panting, grappling,
straining. Mr. Magee soon realized that his adversary was no weakling.
He was forced to call into play muscles he had not used in what seemed
ages--not since he sported of an afternoon in a rather odorous college
gymnasium. In moonlight and shadow, up and down, they reeled, staggered,
stumbled, the sole jarring notes in that picture of Baldpate on a quiet
winter's night.

"You queered the game last time," muttered the stranger. "But you'll
never queer it again."

Mr. Magee saved his breath. Together they crashed against the side of
the inn. Together they squirmed away, across the balcony to the railing.
Still back and forth, now in the moonlight, now in shadow, wildly they
fought. Once Mr. Magee felt his feet slip from beneath him, but caught
himself in time. His strength was going--surely--quickly. Then suddenly
his opponent seemed to weaken in his grip. With a supreme effort Magee
forced him down upon the balcony floor, and tumbled on top of him. He
felt the chill of the snow under his knees, and its wetness in his
cuffs.

"Now," he cried to himself.

The other still struggled desperately. But his struggle was without
success. For deftly Billy Magee drew from his pocket the precious
package about which there had been so much debate on Baldpate Mountain.
He clasped it close, rose and ran. In another second he was inside
number seven, and had lighted a candle at the blazing logs.

Once more he examined that closely packed little bundle; once more he
found it rich in greenbacks. Assuredly it was the greatly desired thing
he had fought for the night before. He had it again. And this time, he
told himself, h