lim beckoned to George.

"Straight you've come to the place where I've dreamed for months of
getting you."

Garth managed a grin.

"Cut out the bum acting, Slim. Let's hear what you've got on your mind."

He shrank from a reply. More and more he was impressed by the
indifference with which these confederates constantly revealed their
faces. He knew, if the inspector did not arrive quickly, he must suffer
an eccentric and barbarous punishment. He tried to forecast the penalty,
but his imagination was insufficient and his appraisal of Slim's
cruelty too conservative. It wasn't until George stepped forward and
Nora screamed that he guessed why the others were unafraid of his
identification, that he understood how his situation might involve more
than life and death. And, perhaps, the shambling creature outside had
put the inspector's party on the wrong track.

George placed a pint bottle in Slim's hand. A smoky liquid did not quite
fill it. Slim turned to the others, assuming an attitude of mockery.

"This is the brave guy that side-tracked Simmons last summer and wore
the gray mask just as if he had something, too, that would frighten
women and children. He's the bull that steered us against the black cap
yesterday. Let's see how he likes hearing the sentence read himself.
Only he isn't going to get anything as comfortable as the electric
chair."

A laugh sneered through the cellar.

"Better speed it up, Slim," George advised.

Slim drew the cork from the bottle while his thin lips ceased to smile.

"Since you found a gray mask so becoming, Garth," he snarled, "it's only
fair to give you honest cause to wear one. But you'll go poor Simmons
one better. _Your_ mask won't need any eye holes."

Nora cried out again.

"You couldn't do it," Garth muttered.

Beneath his rage lurked a fear of which he had never dreamed himself
capable. To face death would have been so much simpler.

"What's in that bottle, Slim?"

"A black cap for you, damn you! Pure vitriol!"

He bent closer.

"Squirm! Those ropes and your own handcuffs will hold you. You'll beg me
for a bullet before I'm through."

George twisted the girl so she had to watch.

"Pipe your handsome beau, Nora! You'll think I'm more your style in
about ten seconds."

She shuddered.

"You're not bad enough to do that, Slim!"

"Watch me," he answered.

A complete satisfaction blotted from his eyes the fear he had hitherto
never quite concealed--the qui