"Vot der hell you got to do mit it?" demanded the other ferociously,
while his companion laughed.

The woman held up a hand. "Do not quarrel," she said. "There is
trouble enough already. Besides, they may be here any moment. Is
there anything to get ready?"

"But vot der hell," cried the fat man again. She turned on him.

"Fool! fool! Will you shout and curse all night, till the algemas are
on you?"

"Yes; an' you put dem on us," the tall man interrupted.

She turned swiftly on him, poising her small head over her bare
breasts with a superb scorn.

"Why do you lie?" she demanded hotly. "Why do you lie? Must you hide
even from your own blame behind my skirts? Mother of God!"--an
outstretched hand called the tawdry Virgin on the wall to witness--
"you are neither man nor good beast--just----"

The tall man interrupted. "Don' go, on!" he said quietly. "Don' go
on!" His eyes were shining, and he carried one hand beneath his coat.
"Don' dare to go on!"

"Dare!" The woman lifted her face insolently, brought up her bare arm
with a slow sweep, and puffed once at an imaginary cigarette. There
was so much of defiance in the action that Dawson, watching her,
breathless, started to his feet with something hard and heavy in his
hand. It was the image.

"Thief!" said the woman slowly, gazing under languorous eyelids at
the white, venomous face of the tall man. "Thief and----" she leaned
forward and said the word, the ultimate and supreme insult of the
coast.

It was barely said when there flashed something in the man's hand. He
was poised on his toes, leaning forward a little, his arm swinging
beside him. The woman flung both arms before her face and cried out;
then leaned rapidly aside as a pointed knife whizzed past her head
and struck twanging in the wall behind her. The man sprang forward,
and the next instant the room was chaos, for Dawson, tingling to his
extremities, stepped in and spread him out with a crashing blow on
the head. The "idol" was his weapon.

The stout German thundered an oath and heaved to his feet, fumbling
at his hip and babbling broken profanity.

Dawson swung the image and stepped towards him.

"Keep still," he cried, "or I'll brain you!"

"Der hell!" vociferated the German, and fired swiftly at him. The
room filled with smoke, and Dawson, staggering unhurt, but with his
face stung with powder, did not see the man fall. As the German drew
the revolver clear, the woman knifed him in th