n peril of her life,
discretion forsook him, blind rage mastered him, and he did one of the
few foolish things of his life.

"You lie, you brute, you lie!" he shouted, jumping up into full view.
"God help the man who lays a hand on her! Let him keep his life from me
if he can!"

"The Cracksman!" yelled out Serpice. "The Cracksman! The Cracksman!"
echoed Margot and the rest. Then a pistol barked and spat, the light was
swept out, a bullet sang past Cleek's ear, and he realized how foolish
he had been. For part of the crowd came surging to the window, part went
in one blind rush for the door to head him off and hem him in, and,
through the din and hubbub rang viciously the voice of Margot shrilling
out: "Kill him! Kill him!" as though nothing but the sight of his blood
would glut her malice.

It was neck or nothing now, and the race was to the swift. He dropped
through a gap in the ragged roof, sheer down, like a shot, into the
rubble and refuse below; he lurched through the shed to the door, and
through that to the black passage leading to the street--the clatter on
the higher staircase giving warning of the crowd coming after him--and
flew like a hare hard pressed toward the outer door, and then, just
then, when every little moment counted, there was a scrambling sound, a
chorus of oaths, a slipping, a sliding, a bang on one step and a bump on
another; and, as he darted by and sprang out into the street the hall
was filled with a writhing, scuffling, swearing mass of glue-covered men
struggling in a whirling waste of loose brown paper.

"This way! come quickly, for your life!" he shouted to Dollops as he
came plunging out into the street. "They've got them, got the little
boy! Got Miss Lorne--in spite of me. Come on! come on! come on!" He flew
like an arrow from crossing to crossing and street to street with
Dollops, like a shadow, at his heels.

A sudden swerve to the right brought them into a lighted and populous
thoroughfare. Italian restaurants, German delicatessen shops, eating
places of a dozen other nationalities lined the pavement on both sides
of the street, and in front of one of these a high-power motor stood,
protected by the watchful eye of an accommodating policeman while the
chauffeur sampled Chianti in a wine-shop close by. With a rush and a
leap Cleek was upon it, and with another rush and a leap the constable
was upon him, only to be greeted with the swift flicking open of a coat
and the gleam of