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.”