m," Brennan gave the assurance.

"All right, see you later," said the police commissioner, going out and
closing the door behind him. They heard him hurrying away. John looked
at his watch. It was twenty minutes to seven. Brennan stood still,
watching the door through which Gibson had gone for several minutes and
then turned quickly.

"Well?" he said.

"What do you say?" said John.

"Let's go," Brennan said snapping out his words. "We're in on something
big."

The photographer followed them to the elevator and down to the street
where they waited for Gibson's detectives.

"What's doing?" Benton asked.

"Can you work that camera of yours with a load of buckshot whistling by
your head?" asked Brennan.

"Hot stuff, huh?" Benton asked, eagerly. John saw that the
photographer's face actually brightened at the prospect of something out
of the usual. Brennan told him, in short graphic sentences, what was
before them.

"Gosh darn!" Benton ejaculated. "Hot dog and sweet puppies!"

As an outlet for his excitement he danced a queer little jig on the
sidewalk, muttering a rhythmic verse as he shuffled his feet. At the
termination of each heavily accented line he slapped his right foot down
loudly. As he jigged his voice grew louder until John could discern the
familiar lines from Kipling:

"It was 'Din! Din! Din!'
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground,
An' he's kickin' all around;
For Gawd's sake, git the water, Gunga Din!"

In a few minutes three automobiles, following each other closely,
wheeled into the curb. A man in the front seat of the first car motioned
to them.

"Brennan and Gallant?" he asked, brusquely. "Who's that with you?"

"Our photographer," Brennan explained.

"All right, get in."

They clambered into the tonneau and the machine shot away from the curb,
followed by the other two.

"Well, we're on our way," said Brennan, settling back in the cushions.

Absent-mindedly Benton resumed his half chant song.

"You may talk o' gin and beer,
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an'
Alder--SHOT-IT----"

The crowds on the streets as the three automobiles wove their way
through the traffic were that curious mixture of workers leaving late
for their homes and pleasure seekers coming downtown for the first
performances at the motion picture theaters, which is such an
intere