of the pugilist found a vent in punishing the friend of
the man he hated. Johnnie grew black in the face. His knees sagged
and his lips foamed.

The officers pried Jerry loose from his victim with the greatest
difficulty. He tried furiously to get at him, lunging from the men who
were holding his arms.

The puncher sank helplessly against the wall.

"He's got all he can carry, Mr. Durand," one of the bluecoats said
soothingly. "You don't wantta croak the little guy."

The ex-prize-fighter returned to sanity. "Says I'm white-slavin' a
girl, does he? I'll learn him to lie about me," he growled.

Johnnie strangled and sputtered, fighting for breath to relieve his
tortured lungs.

"Gimme the word, an' I'll run him in for a drunk," the policeman
suggested out of the corner of a whispering mouth.

Jerry shook his head. "Nope. Let him go, Pete."

The policeman walked up to the Runt and caught him roughly by the arm.
"Move along outa here. I'd ought to pinch you, but I'm not gonna do it
this time. See? You beat it!"

Durand turned to one of his followers. "Tail that fellow. Find out
where he's stayin' and report."

Helplessly Johnnie went staggering down the street. He did not
understand why he had been treated so. His outraged soul protested at
such injustice, but the instinct of self-preservation carried him out
of the danger zone without argument about it. Even as he wobbled away
he was looking with unwavering faith to his friend to right his wrongs.
Clay would fix this fellow Durand for what he had done to him. Before
Clay got through with him the bully would wish he had never lifted a
hand to him.

CHAPTER XVI

A FACE IN THE NIGHT

Clay did his best under the handicap of a lack of _entente_ between him
and the authorities to search New York for Kitty. He used the personal
columns of the newspapers. He got in touch with taxicab drivers,
ticket-sellers, postmen, and station guards. So far as possible he
even employed the police through the medium of Johnnie. The East Side
water-front and the cheap lodging-houses of that part of the city he
combed with especial care. All the time he knew that in such a maze as
Manhattan it would be a miracle if he found her.

But miracles are made possible by miracle-workers. The Westerner was a
sixty-horse-power dynamo of energy. He felt responsible for Kitty and
he gave himself with single-minded devotion to the job of discovering
her.

His