re Curtis and
the others were standing, and leveled a Browning pistol at the
detective. He even hesitated an instant to take aim, but before his
finger had pressed the trigger, Curtis had sprung at him. There was no
time for a blow, but a well placed kick spun the would-be murderer off
his feet, and the crash of the shot came an infinitesimal part of a
second too late. As it was, the bullet struck a lamp higher up the
street, and a line taken subsequently showed that it must have missed
Steingall by only a few inches.

The miscreant reeled, and lost his balance. Then Curtis closed with
him, caught his right wrist, and threw him heavily, but, such was the
man's frenzied resolve not to be arrested, that he fired twice again
before the deadly weapon fell from his grasp. He did no damage, but
the uproar brought a motley crowd from the neighboring dwellings.
Market Street, which had seemed asleep or dead, proved itself very much
alive and awake, but the sight of uniformed police hurrying up from
several directions restrained any undue curiosity on the part of its
denizens.

The desperado on the ground was handcuffed at once, and, while a
policeman was searching his pockets rapidly to ascertain if he carried
another pistol, Steingall gripped Curtis by the shoulder.

"I owe you something for that," he said quietly. "I rather fancy he
would have dropped me if it hadn't been for you. . . . Oh, I know what
I am saying. I shall not forget. . . . Show a light here," he added
to a patrolman who had run from East Broadway on hearing the shooting.
"Now, Mr. Curtis, do you recognize him?"

"Yes," said Curtis---whose experiences in New York were revealing an
unsuspected side of his character, for in 56th Street, in Morris
Siegelman's, and now again in Market Street, he had proved himself what
Allen Breck would have termed "a bonnie fighter"--"yes, that is the man
who spoke to me in the Central Hotel. I imagine he is Martiny."

"Good! Put him in the car!"

The detective rushed off, but soon returned.

"Sorry to trouble you, but will you come this way a minute?" he said.

Curtis went with him. In Henry Street a small group was gathered in
the roadway. A policeman had proved himself a better shot than Rossi,
and Hunter's murder was already avenged in part.

The dead man was left to the district police, to be carried to the
mortuary in an ambulance. Steingall, with his prisoner, returned to
headquarters, while Clanc