re block heard.

Here, there, up street and down, bedroom windows gently opened, then
closed with finality more gentle yet. Silence. Not a voice. Not a foot
on a stair.

The officers looked at each other perplexed. Then, by chance, they
looked at Drake. Drake, so lately black with suicidal gloom, was
grinning! Grinning as a man does when the citadel of his heart is
comforted.

"You don't understand, do ye!" chuckled he. "Well, I'll tell ye: What do
them folks see when they open their windows and look down here in the
road? They see three hard-lookin' fellers with guns in their hands, here
in this bright moonlight. And they see somethin' scarier to them than a
hundred strangers with guns--they see _ME_! There ain't a mother's son
of 'em that'll budge downstairs while I'm here, not if you pound on
their doors till the cows come home." And he slapped his knee with his
good hand and laughed in pure ecstasy--a laugh that caught all the
little group and rocked it as with one mind.

"We don't begrudge you that, do we boys?" Hallisey conceded. "Smith,
you're as respectable-looking as any of us. Hunt around and see if you
can find a Constable that isn't onto this thing. We'll wait here for
you."

Moving out of the zone of the late demonstration, Private Smith learned
the whereabouts of the home of a Constable.

"What's wanted?" asked the Constable, responding like a normal burgher
to Smith's knock at his door.

"Officer of State Police," answered Smith. "I have a man under arrest
and want to put him in the lock-up. Will you get me the keys?"

"Sure. I'll come right down and go along with you myself. Just give me a
jiffy to get on my trousers and boots," cried the Constable, clearly
glad of a share in the adventure.

In a moment the borough official was at the Trooper's side, talking
eagerly as they moved toward the place where the party waited.

"So, he's a highwayman, is he? Good! and a burglar, too, and a
cattle-thief! Good work! And you've got him right up the street, ready
to jail! Well, I'll be switched. Now, what might his name be? Israel
Drake? _Not Israel Drake!_ Oh, my God!"

The Constable had stopped in his tracks like a man struck paralytic.

"No, stranger," he quavered. "I reckon I--I--I won't go no further with
you just now. Here, I'll give you the keys. You can use 'em yourself:
These here's for the doors. This bunch is for the cells. _Good_-night to
you. I'll be getting back home!"

By the first t