e a
stick," suggested Devar.

"You and Mr. Curtis are remaining right here," said the detective.

"Oh, be a man, Steingall!" cried Devar disgustedly. "Don't play dog
when there's a chance of a real row. Look how I swung things your way
in Morris Siegelman's!"

"You might let us peep round the corner, at any rate," smiled Curtis.

Steingall meant to be obdurate, but yielded, and it was well that he
allowed his sympathies to sway his judgment, or there might have been
an early vacancy in the chief inspectorship.

At that middle hour of the night even New York's prowlers of the dark
had retired to their foul rookeries. The streets were almost deserted,
and the glare of gas and naphtha had vanished. The houses of the
Hungarian quarter were stark and gloomy now, many woe-begone in their
semi-dismantled aspect, and all sinister. When the automobile drew up
noiselessly at the corner of Market Street, a broad enough
thoroughfare, but broken and battered in appearance, the only visible
forms were those of three or four patrolmen, who were sauntering
aimlessly along the sidewalk. But there were eyes watching through
unknown chinks in shutters, or peering through soiled curtains behind
dirt-stained windows, and the quiet concentration of the police in one
special quarter evidently did not pass unnoticed.

When the battle began, it partook of the vagaries of real warfare by
opening unexpectedly.

It was ascertained afterwards that two men darted like shadows out of a
passage in Market Street, and separated instantly. One came toward
East Broadway, where the detectives and their companions had just
alighted from the car, and the other, breaking into a run, dived into
Henry Street, with two patrolmen after him. He it was who opened the
fray, and the peace of the night was suddenly disrupted by the loud
bark of an automatic pistol. Three shots were fired with a quick
irregularity, and then came the deeper report of a service revolver.

Steingall and Clancy ran forward, and the fugitive coming their way had
actually passed them, with two more patrolmen in pursuit, when
Steingall saw him and turned instantly.

"Stop!" he shouted.

The man only increased his pace, and the detective, astonishingly
active for one of his bulk, raced along at top speed.

"Stop or I shoot!" he cried again.

By that time the self-confessed outlaw was nearly opposite the car. He
checked his pace, half turned, luckily not to the side whe