ind that way the door's
shut tight, and a feller with a darn sharp sword is sitting around
waiting on you. Take a chance, man. Get out in the open. It's big, and
it's good. It's a hell of a sight in front of a city, anyway. If they
get you--well, what of it? You've asked for it. And anyway they're going
to get you some time. You can't get away with the play all the time."

"Yes. I s'pose that's right. It's a big country, and--" The man's fair
brows drew together. The regret was plain enough in his eyes. There was
more weakness than crime in them.

The bearded man tapped the page of the news sheet he was reading with an
emphatic forefinger that was none too clean.

"What in hell?" he exclaimed. "These fellers beat me. Here, look at
that, and read the stuff some darn hoodlum has doped out."

He passed the paper to the Englishman. That at which the other pointed
was the photograph of a man. The letterpress was underneath it.

"Get a good look at the picture. Then read," the other exclaimed, while
his dark eyes searched the Englishman's face.

He waited, watchful, alert. He saw the other's eyes scan the
letterpress. Then he saw them revert again to the picture.

"Well, what d'you make out? Aren't they darn suckers? Look at that job
line in bum ink. Could you get that face from a Limburger cheese? And
the dope? After handing you a valentine that 'ud scare a blind Choyeuse,
and you couldn't rec'nize for a man without a spy glass, they set right
in to tell you he's 'wanted' for things he did in the North-west two and
a haf years ago. The p'lice have been chasing him for two and a haf
years. They've never located him, and he's likely living in the heart of
Sahara or some other darn place by now. And now--now some buzzy-headed
'cop' reckons he's got a line, and dopes out that stuff to warn him
they're coming along, so he can get well away in time. Makes you laff."

There was irritation in the man's tone. There was something else
besides.

The blue-eyed English crook was studying the picture closely.

"It sort of seems foolish," he said at last.

"Foolish? Gee!"

"Still, it is the face of a man, and a good-looking man," he went on.
"And there's something familiar about it, too; I seem to know the face."
Suddenly he looked round, and his pale, searching eyes looked hard at
his companion. "Say, he's not unlike you. He's got the same forehead,
and the same eyes and nose. If you'd got no beard, and your hair was
brushed