It was a real fight; they all knew that when it was finished. But it was three to one, with Hobart blocking the only open door, and egging them on, and the excited girl, backed into a corner out of the way, the revolver still gripped in her hand, ready for any emergency. The narrowness of the hall alone afforded West a chance, as the walls protected him, and compelled direct attack from in front. Yet this advantage only served to delay the ending. He recognized two of the fellows “Red” Hogan and Mark while the third man was a wiry little bar-room scrapper, who smashed fiercely in through his guard, and finally got a grip on his throat which could not be wrenched loose. The others pounded him unmercifully, driving his head back against the wall. Hogan smashed him twice, crashing through his weak attempt at defence, and with the second vicious drive, West went down for the count, lying motionless on the floor, scarcely conscious that he was still living.

Yet in a dazed, helpless way, he was aware of what was occurring about him; he could hear voices, feel the thud of a brutal kick. Some one dragged him out from the mess, and turned his face up to the light; but he lay there barely breathing; his eyes tightly closed.

“It’s a knock-out all right,” Hogan declared. “That guy is good for an hour in dream-land. What’s the dope?”

“We got to keep him here, that’s all; and there’s goin’ to be no get-away this time.”

“How’d he do it before, Jim? did he tell you?”

“Not a damned word; I was fool enough to do all the talking. But this fellow is too slick to take any more chances with.”

“Do you want him croaked?”

“No, I don’t not now. What the hell’s the use? It would only make things harder. We’re ready to make our get-away, ain’t we? After tomorrow all hell can’t get onto our trail. This guy’s life wouldn’t help us none, so far as I can see.”

“Getting squeamish, ain’t you?”

“No, I’m not. I’ve got as much reason to hate the fellow as you have, ‘Red.’ He certainly swiped me one. Before we had the swag copped, I was willing enough to put him out of the running. That was business. You sure did a fine job then, damn you; now I don’t think it is your time to howl. Listen here, will you? From all I learn, this bird amounts to something; he ain’t just a dago to be bumped off, and nobody care what’s become of him. This guy has got friends. It won’t help us any to be hunted after for murder on top of this other job. If we cop the kale, that’s all we’re after. Is that right, Del?”

The girl seemed to come forward, and face them defiantly.

“Sure it’s right. I never was for the strong arm stuff, Hogan. This is my graft, anyhow, and not one of you stiffs gets a penny of it unless I split with you. This fellow isn’t going to be slugged that’s flat. It is only because he’s fell in love with the Coolidge girl that he is here, and once we’ve skipped out, I don’t wish the guy any bad luck.”

“You ought to have caught him yourself, Del,” some one said. “The bird never would have known the difference.”

She laughed, quickly restored to good humour.

“You’re about right there, Dave,” she answered. “That was another mistake; the only chance I ever had of marrying in high social circles. But hell, I’ll be a lady tomorrow, so let’s let the poor devil go. Wrap him up, and lay him away out in the garage. The walls are two foot solid stone; he’ll stay buried there all right.”

Hogan growled in derision, yet it was evident that she and Hobart would have their way. Some one brought a rope, which was deftly wound about him, West continuing to feign unconsciousness. He secretly hoped this condition might result in some carelessness on their part, in either speech or action. Anyway it would undoubtedly save him from further brutal treatment. He had no reason to suspect that his ruse was questioned. The fellows spoke freely while making him secure, but he gained very little information from their conversation not a hint as to where Natalie was confined, or how long it was proposed to hold them prisoners. Then “Red” and Dave lugged his limp body through several rooms, out upon a back porch, finally dragging him down the steps and along a cement drive way, letting him lie there a moment in the dark, while one of them unlocked a door. The next instant he was carelessly thrown inside, and the door forced back into place. He could hear Hogan swear outside, and then the sound of both men’s feet on the drive as they departed.

With a struggle West managed to sit up, but could scarcely attempt more, as his arms were bound closely to his sides. The darkness about him was intense, and, with the disappearance of the two men up the steps, all outside sounds had ceased. He knew he had been flung into the garage and was resting there on the hard cement floor. He could neither feel nor see any machine, nor was there probably the slightest prospect of his getting out unaided. Those fellows would never have left him there without guard, had they dreamed any escape was possible. The girl had affirmed the building was constructed of stone, two feet thick. He stared around at the impenetrable black wall completely defeated. Undoubtedly they had him this time. He was weak from hunger, tired nearly to death; bruised and battered until it seemed as though every muscle in his body throbbed with pain. Yet his mind was not on these things, only incidentally; his thought, his anxiety centred altogether on Natalie Coolidge. What had become of her; where was she now? He had no reason to believe her in any great personal danger. If this gang, satisfied of success, were disposed to spare his life, it was hardly probable they would demand her’s. Now both the desire for murder, and the necessity, had passed. The fellows felt supremely confident the spoils were already theirs, and that all that was needed now to assure complete success was sufficient time in which to drop safely out of sight. Murder would hinder, rather than help this escape.

But what a blind fool he had been; how strangely he had permitted this girl to lead him so easily astray. Why really, to his mind now, she possessed no real resemblance to Natalie; not enough, at least, to deceive the keen eyes of love. She had the features, the eyes, the hair, the voice, a certain trick of speech, which, no doubt, she had cultivated but there were a thousand things in which she differed. Her laugh was not the same, nor the expression of her lips; she was like a counterfeit beside a good coin. It was easy to conceive how others might be deceived by her tricks of resemblance servants, ordinary friends, even the old lawyer in charge of the estate but it was inexcusable for him to have thus become a plaything. Yet he had, and now the mistake was too late to mend. He had left Natalie alone on the cliff, and then blindly permitted this chit to lead him straight into Hobart’s set trap. Angered beyond control at the memory, West swore, straining fiercely in the vain endeavour to release his arms. Then, realizing his utter helplessness, he sank back on the floor, and lay still.

What was that? He listened, for an instant doubtful if he had really heard anything. Then he actually heard a sound. He doubted no longer, yet made no effort to move, even holding his breath in suspense. There was movement of some kind back there a cautious movement; seemingly the slow advance of something across the floor, a dog perhaps. West’s heart throbbed with apprehension; suppose it was a dog, he had no means of protection from the brute. Cold sweat tingled on his flesh; there was nothing he could do, no place where he could go. The thing was moving nearer; yet surely it could not be a dog; no dog would ever creep like that. He could bear the strain no longer; it was beyond endurance.

“What’s moving back there?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

There was a moment of utter silence; then, a man’s voice said in low, cautious tone.

“The fellow ain’t dead, Mac; anyhow he seems able to talk yet.”

“All right, we’ll find out what he’s got to say go on along.”

West sat up, his heart bounding with sudden remembrance.

“My God! McAdams is that you?”

“You have the name who’s speaking?”

“Matt West. Good God, but this is like a miracle. I’d played my last card. Come here, one of you, and cut these strings. I cannot even move, or stand up. Is it really you, Mac? Yes, yes, I am all right; they bruised me up a bit, of course, but that is nothing. Now I have a chance to pay them out. But who are with you? and how did you come to be here?”

McAdams ran his knife blade through the lashings, feeling for them in the dark. Neither could see the other, but West realized that another man had crept up on the opposite side of him, and crouched there silently in the blackness.

“Need any help, Mac?” the latter questioned in a whisper.

“No, I’ve got him cut loose. This is the lad I told you about, Carlyn. You go on back, and, as soon as West gets limbered up a bit, and I hear his story, we join you out there. Then we’ll know how the ground lies.”

The fellow crept away unseen, and McAdams gripped West’s hand.

“Say, but this is mighty good luck, old boy,” he blurted out. “I was afraid you’d gone down in that yacht last night.”

“You were! How did you know about it?”

“Stumbled on to the story, the way most detectives solve their mysteries. That is, I stumbled on some of it, and the rest I dug out for myself. It won’t take long to explain and perhaps you better understand. They told me at the office when I got back about the Seminole being tied up at the Municipal Pier, and that you had gone down there. Well, I made it as quick as I could, but the yacht was three hundred yards out in the lake by the time I arrived. There wasn’t a damn thing to take after it in, and, besides, just then, I didn’t really know any good police reason for chasing her. First thing I did was to try and find you, so we could get our heads together. But you wasn’t there, and so I naturally jumped to the conclusion you must have got aboard someway. Say I combed that pier, believe me, West, and finally I ran across a kid who put me wise. He saw you go across the deck, and into the cabin with two other guys. They came out again, but you didn’t. I pumped him until I got a pretty good description of both those fellows, and I decided one of them must be ‘Red’ Hogan, about the toughest gun-man in Chicago.”

“It was Hogan.”

“I made sure of that afterwards. Then I got busy. If you was in the hands of that guy, and his gang, the chances was dead against you. But there wasn’t a darn thing I could do, except to hunt up Hobart, wire every town along the north shore to keep an eye out for the yacht, and pick up a thread or two around town. I got a bit at that to wise me up. We found Hobart hid away in a cheap hotel out on Broadway, and put a trailer on him. The girl had disappeared; she’d been to a bank, and then to the Coolidge lawyer and signed some papers; after that we lost all trace of her for awhile. Your man Sexton, out at ‘Fairlawn,’ reported that she hadn’t returned there. Then I got desperate and decided I’d blow the whole thing to the Coolidge lawyer, and get him to take a hand. I was afraid they were already for the get-a-way see? I couldn’t round ’em up alone; besides I’m a Chicago police officer, and have to keep more or less on my own beat.”

“And you told the lawyer?”

“Everything I knew, and some I guessed at. I thought the old guy would throw a fit, but he didn’t. He came through game after the first shock. But say, that dame had sold him out all right. He never had an inkling anything was wrong; no more did the banks. We went over, and talked to the president of one of them a smooth guy with white mutton chops and the girl had signed up the preliminary papers already, and tomorrow the whole boodle was going to drop softly into her lap. Say, I felt better when I learned they hadn’t copped the swag yet. But just the same I needed help.”

“And you got it?”

“Sure; those two duffers coughed up money in a stream. Called in a detective agency, and gave me three operatives to work under me. Got the chief on the wire, and made him give me a free hand. Then I had a cinch.”