most popular among the very criminals he
hunted, whereas those same desperadoes feared the diminutive Clancy,
the little, slight, dark-haired sleuth of French-Irish descent. He,
they were aware instinctively, read their very souls before Steingall's
huge paw clutched their quaking bodies.

Idle chance alone decided that Clancy should undertake the half-hour's
vigil at the up-town club that evening. All unknowing, he became thereby
the controlling influence in many lives.

At eight o'clock an elderly man emerged from the building and edged
his way through the cheery, laughing people already grouped about the
doorway and awaiting automobiles. Mr. William Meiklejohn might have been
branded with the word "Senator," so typical was he of the upper house
at Washington. The very cut of his clothes, the style of his shoes, the
glossiness of his hat, even the wide expanse of pearl-studded white
linen marked him as a person of consequence.

A uniformed policeman, striving to keep the pavement clear of loiterers,
recognized and saluted him. The salute was returned, though its
recipient's face seemed to be gloomy, preoccupied, almost disturbed.
Therefore he did not notice a gaunt, angular-jawed woman--one whose
carriage and attire suggested better days long since passed--who had
been peering eagerly at the revellers pouring out of the club, and now
stepped forward impetuously as if to intercept him.

She failed. The policeman barred her progress quietly but effectually,
and the woman, if bent on achieving her purpose, must have either called
after the absorbed Meiklejohn or entered into a heated altercation with
the policeman when accident came to her aid.

Mrs. Ronald Tower, strikingly handsome, richly gowned and cloaked, with
an elaborate coiffure that outvied nature's best efforts, was crossing
the pavement to enter a waiting car when she stopped and drew her hand
from her escort's arm.

"Senator Meiklejohn!" she cried.

The elderly man halted. He doffed his hat with a flourish.

"Ah, Helen," he said smilingly. "Whither bound?"

"To see Belasco's latest. Isn't that lucky? The very thing I wanted.
Poor Ronald! I don't know what has become of him, or into what net he
may have fallen."

The Senator beamed. He knew that Ronald Tower was one of the eight
bridge-players, but was pledged to secrecy.

"I only hailed you to jog your memory about that luncheon to-morrow,"
went on Mrs. Tower.

"How could I forget?" he retorte