Alan would
sit up for a while listening, and then excuse himself and get some
sleep. As he lay in bed he could hear low whispering, and once he woke
toward morning and heard the conversation still going on. He strained
his ears, but did not pick up anything.

One night early in October he had come home from the games parlor and,
finding nobody home, had gone immediately to sleep. Some time later he
heard Hawkes and his friends come in, but he was too tired to get out of
bed and greet them. He rolled over and went back to sleep.

But later that night he felt hands touching him, and he opened an eye to
see Hawkes bending over him.

"It's me--Max. Are you awake?"

"No," Alan muttered indistinctly.

Hawkes shook him several times. "Come on--get up and put some clothes
on. Some people here who want to talk to you."

Only half comprehending, Alan clambered unwillingly from bed, dressed,
and splashed cold water in his face. He followed Hawkes back inside.

The living room was crowded. Seven or eight men were there--the ones
Alan thought of as the inner circle of Hawkes' cronies. Johnny Byng,
Mike Kovak, Al Webber, Lorne Hollis, and some others. Sleepily Alan
nodded at them and took a seat, wondering why Hawkes had dragged him out
of bed for this.

Hawkes looked at him sharply. "Alan, you know all these people, don't
you?"

Alan nodded. He was still irritated at Hawkes; he had been sound asleep.

"You're now facing ninety per cent of what we've come to call the Hawkes
Syndicate," Hawkes went on. "These eight gentlemen and myself have
formed the organization recently for a certain specific purpose. More of
that in a few minutes. What I got you out here to tell you was that
there's room in our organization for one more man, and that you fit the
necessary qualifications."

"Me?"

Hawkes smiled. "You. We've all been watching you since you came to live
with me, testing you, studying you. You're adaptable, strong,
intelligent. You learn fast. We had a little vote tonight, and decided
to invite you in."

Alan wondered if he were still asleep or not. What was all this talk of
syndicates? He looked round the circle, and realized that this bunch
could be up to no good.

Hawkes said, "Tell him about it, Johnny."

Byng leaned forward and blinked his drug-stained eyes. In a quiet voice,
almost a purr, he said, "It's really very simple. We're going to stage a
good old-fashioned hold-up. It's a proposition that'll net us