d of a dark form in front of
him.

There was a half sigh, half moan. The form slid limply to the floor.
Lannigan was floundering down the shop, leaping obstacles in a mad rush,
his flashlight picking out the way.

Jimmie Dale stepped swiftly backward, and his hand groped out for the
droplight, over the end of the bench, that he had knocked against in
his own rush. His fingers clutched it--and the lower end of the shop was
flooded with light. Except for his felt hat that lay a little distance
away, there was no sign of Whitey Mack; the huddled form of the man,
who but a moment since had chuckled as he pocketed old Max Diestricht's
gems, lay sprawled, inert, upon the floor, and Lannigan was staring into
the muzzle of Jimmie Dale's automatic.

"Drop that gun, Lannigan!" said Jimmie Dale coolly. "And I'll trouble
you not to make a noise; it might attract attention from the street;
there's been too much already. DROP THAT GUN!"

The revolver clattered from Lannigan's hand to the floor. A step
forward, and Jimmie Dale's toe sent it spinning under a bench. Another
step, and, his revolver still covering the other, he had whipped a pair
of handcuffs from the officer's side pocket.

Lannigan, as though the thought had never occurred to him, offered no
resistance. He was staring in a dazed sort of way back and forth from
Jimmie Dale to the man on the floor.

"What's this mean?" he burst out suddenly, "Where's--"

"Your wrist, please!" requested Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "No--the left
one. Thank you"--as the handcuff snapped shut. "Now go over there and
sit down on the floor beside that fellow. QUICK!" Jimmie Dale's voice
rasped suddenly, imperatively.

Still bewildered, but a little sullen now, Lannigan obeyed. Jimmie Dale
stooped quickly, and snapped the other link of the handcuff over the
unconscious man's right wrist.

Jimmie Dale smiled.

"That's the approved way of taking your man, isn't it? Left wrist to the
prisoner's right. He's only stunned; he'll be around in a moment. Know
him?"

Lannigan shook his head.

"Take a good look at him," invited Jimmie Dale. "You ought to know most
of them in the business."

Lannigan bent over a little closer, and then, with an amazed cry, his
free hand shot forward and tore away the other's beard.

IT WAS WHITEY MACK!

"My God!" gasped Lannigan.

"Quite so!" said Jimmie Dale evenly. "You'll find the diamonds in his
pockets, and, excuse me"--his fingers were running throug